


Once your Sacrifices are made.

by GemmGemm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Cullen taking charge, Cullen to the rescue, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Kidnapping, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Magisters, Nightmares, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Physical Torment, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Rite of Tranquility, Romance, True Love, updates every Friday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 133,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmGemm/pseuds/GemmGemm
Summary: Corypheus had been defeated. The war had been won. But for Commander Cullen and Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, the journey was far from over.A new villain lurks in the shadows eager to take his master's place. Lack of information, and an expanding list of civilian casualties, sends the Inquisition reeling as they scramble to halt a plan that threatens the heart of the Inquisition itself.In race against time, Cullen and Ellana will discover just how much they're willing to sacrifice.Set after Inquisition, but before Trespasser.





	1. He would not falter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I hope you enjoy my story! This Cullen and Lavellan are the same pair as the ones in my "Behind the mask" series. It shouldn't make this story any harder to understand, aside from the VERY occasional line of dialogue or reference that I've tried my best to avoid or explain. I'll be adding tags, characters, etc as I go to avoid spoilers. Please feel free to leave constructive feedback if you wish to do so.

 

Cullen hurt everywhere. Everything, every part of his body ached. Every limb, every patch of skin, every nerve-ending begged him to just give in, to just let it be over. To just say the words the demons wanted him to say and have it done. That it _had_ to be better than this, it couldn't be worse, it simply couldn't be.

How long? How many hours had he been in this room? How long had it been since Uldred had locked him inside this prison and left him to the mercy of the demons? It was days, weeks, years, and yet none of them at the same time. An eternity of torment that lasted no time at all. Time didn't exist here, it had lost all meaning. There had been no rest, no respite from the demons torture. He thought he would be able to stand it, thought he would be able to fight it, if they'd just let him rest. But there was no rest to be had.

He somehow forced himself from his curled ball and onto all fours, his arms felt weak, they shook a little under his weight. His head was heavy, his neck ached with the effort, but he lifted his head enough to see through the conjured purple haze of his cage. He was aiming for a threatening glare when he narrowed his eyes, though he doubted he'd managed much more than a grimace. There was no one in view to witness either expression. All that was before him was the rough stone walls of the small, circular tower room. The blood mages and abominations were in the chamber above, the demons they'd left to guard him had vanished for the moment.

Cullen allowed the hard look to slide from his face and took a few deep breaths.

The air tasted of death.

His armoured gloves clanked against the stone flags of the floor, the sound — small as it was — sent needles of pain through his eyes to pierce deep in his skull. His heavy plate armour was back in place, he noticed, though it was barely more than a dull afterthought: the latest torture the demons had dreamed up for him was over.

His fingers and toes had been on the verge of turning blue when he'd curled in upon himself on the floor. Frigid mountain winds conjured from nothing had whistled around the tower to race across his bare skin, freezing the perspiration that sat stark on his face and turning it to ice. His breath had hung in clouds, coming in increasingly sharper gasps until it became so cold he could barely breathe at all. He'd almost been convulsing when he collapsed. Naked and shivering he'd closed his eyes, his lashes coated in frost, and waited for death to claim him.

The demons knew enough to call a halt to his torture before his heart gave out completely, but Cullen thought this time had been the closest he'd come to death.

He moved his fingers in the steel casing of his gauntlets, they responded to his commands as they always had done, warm blood filled each digit.

This was, perhaps, one of the worst parts of this torture; that it wasn't real.

There had never been piles of snow gusted into drifts against the walls, he'd never been naked on the floor of the tower, slowly freezing to death without the protection of his armour. In just the same way that — _Minutes ago? Hours? Days? Weeks?_ He didn't know — his hair had never really crisped and burned on his head. He knew that fire hadn't _really_ burst through the flags beneath his feet. This knowledge, however, did nothing to stop the sharp smell of his own singed hair from invading his nose. His flesh was unmarked, but he knew how it had felt to have his skin crack and blister with the extreme heat. How his mouth felt as all the moisture within dried and his tongue curled. Andraste preserve him, he knew how a human body would smell as it began to cook.

He still felt the sting of a whip across his back, though he'd bear no scars.

It wasn't real.

All the cause of his pain was false, but the pain itself — every lash, every shock of lightening — his body had felt it all. It had been forced into his mind by demons and blood mages. The pain was all too real, even now his body ached with it, his mind forced to react to pain stimulated by their fingers twisting into him, snaking into his thoughts, pulling his senses apart and turning them upon themselves. His mind, his inner most thoughts, laid bare. Flayed apart for them to peruse for their own means, their own entertainment. Every forbidden desire that Cullen ever had, that which he'd hidden in the darkest recesses of his mind, was open to them. They'd paraded them with sickening joy before his eyes.

He forced himself to turn his head, to look upon the bodies of his former brothers. To see his slain brethren piled unceremoniously where they'd fallen.

_That_ was real.

In the moments where the torture had been at its worst he'd almost envied them. They were at The Makers side now, for them this was over. They'd died in agony. They'd died screaming — _Maker, their screams_ Cullen didn't think he'd ever rid himself of their screams — but they were dead. Gone where the demons couldn't hurt them further. It was only his will that kept him from joining them. His indomitable will and mental focus that kept the demons from conquering him.

He would not falter, he would not let them win.

Muttering the Chant under his breath he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He clenched his jaw and prepared himself. The blood mages and their summoned minions could do their worst: he would not break.

 

 

The sound of long, claw-like fingernails being dragged across the wall pulled Cullen from his meditative state. Before he'd even opened his eyes he knew what to expect. His lip curled of its own accord, baring his teeth, his hands closed into fists at his sides.

Desire.

He watched as the demon made its way across the room. It paused to look down at the fallen Templars, a twisted parody of a smile graced its face, it looked almost fondly upon them. Cullen's empty stomach gave a sickly lurch,

“Leave them be, demon.” He ground between his clenched teeth, “You've taken all you can from them, let the dead rest.” His voice was rough and sore, the back of his throat felt torn and tasted of copper, he swallowed past it.

Desire skirted the mound of bodies, turning to look at Cullen through the magic barrier that separated them. It sashayed toward him with an overt, sensual roll of its hips, it's bare feet soundless on the stone floor. The dull purple hue of its skin was almost grey in the dim light, the pink flame that passed as the creature's hair lit its face from above, shrouding most of its face in shadow. Its attempts at seducing him had been fruitless, but that hadn't stopped it from trying.

_More's the pity,_ Cullen thought.

It came to a stop on the other side of his cage, watching him in silence for a moment, the small smile still played around its mouth. It could make a thoughtful, almost peaceful, face but Cullen wasn't taken in. He knew the twists and turns the creatures mind took behind those black and grey eyes. Its long pointed tail passed through the prison, coming up to caress his face, he batted it away with the back of one hand, detesting the dry scaly feel on his skin, like being touched by dead, half rotten leaves,

“Give up, demon.” He told it, “You'll get nothing you want from me.”

“So hasty, handsome Templar, we've barely even started.” The demon pouted, its voice seemed to come from everywhere at once; from the demon itself, to seep from the walls, and — _Maker help me —_ from inside his own head. It stepped past the barrier to his prison easily to walk around him, examining him from all angles, “Everyone has something they want, something they desire.” It purred, leaning in closer to whisper the final word into his ear, its putrid breath on his face. Cullen shuddered, revulsion turning his stomach and raising new goosebumps on his arms,

“There is nothing I want from you.”

“I'm starting to think you may be right,” It stepped in front of him, its hands brushing up its own body. Cullen looked away in disgust when one of its hands cupped its own breast, the golden chains and tassels that hung around its neck to string to each nipple clinked delicately against its long nails, “Perhaps there really is nothing I can offer you.”

“Then free me from this damned cage or kill me, creature.” He spat. The demon waited in silence until Cullen turned his gaze upon it again. It smiled, slow and silky, and Cullen felt his heart skip; it had some new form of torture planned for him. He just knew it,

“I said that perhaps there was nothing _I_ could offer you, handsome Templar. I said nothing of her.”

The demon turned to the side and Cullen felt the air leave his lungs. In this tower of steel and silk, The Inquisitor looked so out of place in her soft leathers and crown of silver braids. She hadn't seen him yet, her fingers were tapping out their usual agitated rhythm on her leg. Though a mage, one glance at her face made it clear she'd never stepped foot inside a circle, the elegant vallaslin — the mark of her people — swept across each high cheekbone and up to her brow, it bisected her bottom lip to trail down her throat in a line that Cullen had traced with fingers, mouth and tongue more times than he could count.

“Ellana, what are you doing here?” He asked, the demon momentarily forgotten as he brushed past it to stand just before the barrier. The purple haze gave Ellana's face a deathly pallor, making her skin look waxy and thin. Relief flooded her face when she turned wide, fearful eyes upon him,

“Cullen, I've been searching for you. I couldn't find you.” She tried to reach for him through the barrier, pulling her hand back with a yelp when her fingers touched it,

“You shouldn't have come here. The blood mages, they'll -”

“It's going to be alright,” She soothed, “I'm here, you're safe now.”

“I'm the one that's supposed to protect you, remember?” He said, a fond smile pulling at his lips. That same old stubborn lock of silver hair that never knew how to behave itself fell in front of her face, he felt his fingers twitch inside their glove with the urge to push it behind one delicate pointed ear. A gesture as familiar to his hands as the act of rubbing the back of his own neck,

“Ah, a daring task indeed, if lacking a little in the self-preservation department.” She smiled, “It's time for us to leave.”

“Can you remove this barrier?”

“No, but you can.”

“I can't, I tried, but -”

“Just say what they want you to say, and they'll let us go. Both of us. We can leave together.”

“But I -” He wanted to explain that he'd tried, he'd pulled every scrap of will that remained to him to try to dispel the barrier, but it had remained as impenetrable as ever. If he _could_ have rid himself of his cage then there wouldn't be a pile of Templar bodies lying just feet from them. Ellana didn't seem to have noticed the corpses, or the smell of death that hung in the air, she only seemed to have eyes for him.

“It's alright,” She said, her voice soft and calming, “I know you're tired, but I'm here, you can rest now.” She took another small step toward the barrier, so close to him that, if it weren't for the cage, he could have rested his forehead down upon hers.

“I can't, I have to... I have to...” Her eyes drew him in, he wanted to believe her, he wanted to rest,

“You can rest, it can be over.” Her soft voice cajoled, he felt his eyes slide closed, “Just give in, give up this fight. It's right.”

Cullen's eyes flew open as he jerked his head back. Dread pooled in his stomach, his heart pounded thickly in his ears.

Never, _never,_ would Ellana, _his_ Ellana, tell him that giving up was right.

_There's always a way,_ she would tell him, _We are The Inquisition: we never give up, we stand together, we fight together. And when we don't know how, we make it up; we save the world through the power of bullshit._

Cullen took a step away from the barrier,

“You're not her. What are you?” His voice was barely over a horrified whisper, Ellana didn't answer him,

“It _could_ be her.” Desire whispered in his ear, he hadn't noticed its arm draped across his shoulders, “Your eyes believe it's her, your body believes it's her. Do you forget I can see into your mind, handsome Templar? Even now your body responds to her.”

Desire was right, he knew what this conjured image was; just another tool of the demons to torture him. That knowledge did little to stop his traitorous hands from itching to touch her, or the curl of warmth that heated his blood,

“No.” He said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice,

“I can see her desire reflected in you.” The demon murmured, “Would you prefer I raised one of the other Templars to see her desires sated, if you are not up to the task? I could raise several if you like?” Desire waved an arm at the mass of corpses, Cullen imagined he could see the mound shift as though already coming to life, “Would you care to watch your love be ravished by your fallen brothers?”

His brothers.

The demon would use his love for her, and that for his fallen brothers, against him?

It was as though Desire had doused him in freezing cold water, everything inside him turned to solid ice. Hard and unyielding. Cullen turned his head so his face was barely an inch from Desire's, rather than back away he stared into the black depths of the demon's soulless eyes. He found some pit of steel from somewhere within him and forced it into his spine,

“It is not her.” He said, pleased that his voice sounded stronger, “Stop this.”

“That is what you desire? Very well.” Desire sighed, removing its arm from him.

Ellana cried out as chains and shackles snaked up from the ground to wrap around her legs, pinning her in place. She reached down to tug at them, terror etched into her face,

“Wait,” Cullen barked, rounding on the demon, “What are you doing?”

“You wanted me to make it stop,” Desire smirked, “I'm making it stop.”

The demon snapped its fingers and the stone slabs beneath Ellana's feet split open, the air between them instantly started to waver with the heat, clouds of red smoke billowed out, hiding her legs from the knees down,

“This wasn't what I meant, don't -” The sound of Ellana's screams drowned him out as small flames began to lick at her boots. He forgot that it wasn't really her, he forgot that she was a conjured image created to torture him. It didn't matter. All he could hear was her screaming,

“Please, Cullen!” She pleaded, tears began to roll down her face, drying on her skin before they reached her chin, “Please, help me, make it stop!”

“Ellana, I -” Heedless of the pain, Cullen threw himself at the walls of his prison, he pulled together the last scraps of his will and focus and threw them at the barrier; it didn't even flicker, “Yes!” He cried at the demon, “I'll say anything, whatever you want! Just let her go!”

“It is too late for that.” Desire sneered, “If this is the way to break your will, then so be it.”

Another snap of the creatures fingers and waist-high flames burst through the stone. Ellana's screams turned to howls as her leather trousers caught fire,

“Take what you want from me!” He begged, heedless of the tears that now ran down his own face, “You can take it all if it will spare her life!”

Ellana's hands, already blistered and starting to turn black, tried desperately to beat at the flames making their way up her tunic. She looked at him through the smoke and haze of his prison, her eyes, full of agony, seemed to accuse him, to blame him for bringing this fate upon her. Cullen tried to look away,

“No, handsome Templar.” Desire gripped his hair from behind him, its long nails scraped across his scalp, and forcefully turned his head, “You will look, you will watch. And you will see what you have destroyed.”

Ellana fell onto all fours. Desire released its hold on his hair and Cullen dropped beside her, mindlessly calling her name and begging her forgiveness,

“Watch your love crash and burn, while you are powerless to stop it. This is what you allowed to happen. This is what you believe you deserve.”

A few seconds later and Ellana's screams stopped, the smoke hid her from his view, but Cullen knew she was dead. He couldn't lift himself from the ground, all his strength had died with her. Desire laid a hand on his armoured shoulder and -

 

 

Cullen jerked into a sitting position with a grunted curse. A thin layer of sweat coated his entire body. His breath came in whooping gasps, almost sobs, as his heart hammered in his chest. His hands beat at the soft surface he was sitting on, trying to smother flames he couldn't see.

The slim, cool hand of a despair demon slid across the back of his bare shoulders. With a roar Cullen twisted from where he sat, the bed-sheets tangled in his legs, and he pinned the demons thin wrists beneath his hands. He snarled down at it, pushing it into the soft quilting of the mattress.

_The mattress?!_ That wasn't right — that wasn't -

Cullen shook his head, blinking hard,

_Not the stone flags of the tower, but a mattress. Not a demon, but -_

The fog of his nightmare lifted and a pair large, startled eyes swam into focus. They were a blue so deep they were violet. He knew those eyes.

Cullen reeled away from her with a quiet cry of horror, “I — I am so sorry — I -”

Ellana caught his arms before he could throw himself from their bed. The fear he saw shifted, afraid _for_ him, he realised, not _of_ him.

“Hush, ma vhenan.” She said softly. There was too much insight, too much understanding in her eyes; a slight sheen of unshed tears she blinked away so quickly he barely saw, and he knew she'd heard him, that he must have called for her in the grips of his nightmare. Her hand came up to brush along his jaw, and she drew him gently back down to her, “It's not your fault, you never need to apologise for what they did to you.”

 

 


	2. No Inquisition business in bed.

You would think after the months they'd spent sharing a bed, Ellana would have become used to Cullen's nightmares. Perhaps even grown accustomed to him thrashing around, muttering, occasionally even shouting, in his sleep. Maybe you'd predict that after such a length of time her body would automatically ignore it, maybe even allow her to sleep through it. You'd be forgiven for expecting any of these things to be true, but you'd be wrong.

She'd never become used to it and, at this point, she was fairly sure she never would. If anything, she'd become more sensitive to it as the months had passed; it took barely a murmur from his side of the bed to rouse her now. When her eyes flew open this time, it was due to more than just a murmur. He was moaning loudly, a few garbled syllables escaping his lips. His legs kicked, bunching the blankets down near his feet, his hands formed loose fists before releasing again.

 _Gods, not again,_ the thought was almost a lamentable groan.

She didn't think she'd get used to how it made her feel either; her breath still caught, her gut still clenched as painfully as it had the first time.

Reaching out a tentative hand to touch his arm she felt the cold clamminess of his skin, something that only occurred when the nightmares were particularly bad.

 _What horrors is he revisiting tonight?_ She wondered, _Gods know there are enough of them._

As bad as things had sometimes got with The Inquisition — and it _had_ got pretty bad from time to time, there was no use in telling herself differently — Ellana had never felt alone. More than Dorian, Cassandra or anyone else, Cullen had always been there for her, but the things he'd suffered, he'd suffered alone.

The urge to shake him awake was sharp and almost overwhelming, her fingers contracted on his arm slightly, she bit her lip as temptation taunted her,

 _Don't, you swore you wouldn't,_ she told herself firmly.

She withdrew her hand and curled it into a tight fist, her short nails leaving small half-moons on the flesh of her palm, after a few seconds the worst of the impulse passed.

He'd never forgive her for waking him, she knew, not after he'd made her promise.

The blurred line between nightmare and reality was always at its longest when he wasn't permitted to come around naturally and, as they'd discovered, that blurred line could be dangerous.

That revelation had come at a price; they hadn't been sharing a bed for very long when Cullen had had a very bad night, even by his standards; he'd been calling out in his sleep, threatening to wake half of Skyhold. Ellana, still new to his restless nights, had been terrified for him. She'd very carefully woken him by gently shaking his shoulder. Cullen, still asleep, still fighting the demons — in both the literal and metaphorical sense — that haunted his nights, had lashed out, bruising her ribs. She'd tried to hide the bruising, wanting to spare him the guilt that would inevitably follow the discovery that he'd accidentally hurt her. The deception hadn't lasted long; she had never had much success with hiding things from Cullen, he'd found out and pulled the truth from her. He'd been horrified. Her ribs had healed in no time, healing _him_ had taken a lot longer. He'd treated her like spun glass for weeks, and she suspected he _still_ felt guilty about it. It had taken a very long, very persuasive, argument before he'd returned to their bed. He'd agreed only on the condition that she would never wake him in the middle of a nightmare again, regardless of how much she might want to. The bruised ribs didn't bother her in the least; they'd injured each other far worse in the training ring after all, but this was different. Under normal circumstances Cullen would throw himself from the tallest tower in Skyhold before hurting her, but even he couldn't control how he behaved when he was asleep. She knew him well enough to believe his threat to return to that dilapidated room over his office, and that _did_ bother her.

To combat the blurred line between nightmare and reality, she'd done everything she could think of to make his transition as brief and easy as possible.

She'd die before telling him, but she didn't pull the drapes in their room for this very reason. With the amount of travelling they did, it made it easier to wake up in a familiar place. Even without a fire burning in the hearth, or the flickering light of the candles, their room never got fully dark. Large windows took up two whole walls and the moonlight reflected off the snow on the mountains filled the room with a bluish light, the splashes of colour in the stained-glass painted ghostly trees across the floor.

She'd also taken to leaving small bushels of dried herbs under their pillows; a concoction of her own design consisting of various healing roots and, strangely, a dash of cinnamon. That particular recipe had taken countless hours of research, but if it provided him with even the smallest amount of relief then it was worth every minute.

Now, all she could do was wait it out and do what she could for him when he awoke, but _Creators,_ it was hard to watch and listen to him suffer. Though as painful as it was to watch, was she eternally grateful that she was a light sleeper so he didn't have to wake up alone.

Cullen's entire body tensed on the bed next to her, Ellana held her breath as his muscles bulged, his joints seemed to almost creak with the strain. Violently his head thrashed on the pillow, the force enough to make her own neck ache in sympathy,

_Is it any wonder his neck aches all the damn time?_

“Ellana,” he muttered aloud. A lump rose in her throat and her heart clenched painfully, “Ellana, don't — don't. I'm sorry, love. Please.”

Tears instantly prickled in her eyes, her chest ached for his pain, while her jaw clenched in fury for what he'd suffered.

_Damn Uldred. Damn the lyrium. And damn the fucking Chantry for allowing any of it to happen._

 

He jerked awake on a small cry, panting heavily and beating at the mattress; fighting something she couldn't see. Though his eyes were open, they were wide and unfocused, darting around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

Very carefully, and as gently as she could manage, she reached out, tracing the line of bunched muscle across his shoulders. Faster than lightening he turned, his face contorted in fury, and pinned her wrists to the bed on either side of her head. She lay still, letting him come back to himself and saw his expression turn from hatred to surprise to horror as he recognised her,

“I — I'm so sorry — I -”

His hands vanished from her wrists as he yanked himself away, reeling from her. She caught his arms before he could throw himself from their bed,

“Hush, ma vhenan.” she soothed, brushing one hand along his jaw before tugging him back down to her, “It's not your fault, you never need to apologise for what they did to you.”

“But I -”

“You didn't hurt me, I'm fine.” she reassured him, “We're here, we're safe, and I'll never let them hurt you.”

“How would you stop them?” his voice was shaky as he took his turn in the small mantra; one of their rituals that kept the demons — mostly just the metaphorical ones this time — at bay,

“However I had to.”

She tugged him further on top of her, wrapping her legs through his and her arms around his back until he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. He trembled a little under her palms, his skin cold to the touch. She tightened her hold on him, drawing him close until she could feel his heart hammering hard against her own. A little of her mana flowed from her skin to his, gentle and warming. One breath at a time she felt him regain control of himself. Once his breathing had evened out she tilted her face to his and kissed him, trying to convey everything she didn't have words to say into the simple gesture. He hummed his understanding before turning his face into the side of her neck.

She gave him a few moments of quiet, her fingers trailing gentle lines up and down his back, and tried to gauge him. Some nights he awoke angry or bitter, those occasions were met with a few hard rounds of training. By what she'd heard him say in his sleep, she had a good guess on how he was feeling. Sadness required a different tactic,

“Do you want to know what I was just thinking?” she asked,

“Hmm?”

“I was just thinking that Cass probably hasn't hit anything since leaving Skyhold. Do you think we can sneak a training dummy dressed in Orlesian formal wear into The Grand Cathedral?” To be fair, she had been idly thinking of this a few hours ago. Ellana had missed Cassandra almost since the moment she'd left, and often found her thoughts straying in that direction.

Ellana felt him freeze for just a moment under her hands. Then she felt the first breathy huff on the side of her neck. The huff became a chuckle as the ridiculous image took root, within moments his shoulders were shaking and finally the chuckle turned into a full throated belly-laugh. His laughter was music to her ears, relief flooded through her and her heart and stomach finally unclenched.

 

 

Cullen wasn't sure exactly how he'd gone from mind-bending horror to laughter in the space of a few seconds. The image of The Inquisition breaking into the seat of power for The Chantry to deliver a dummy for The Divine was so unexpected and utterly ridiculous that he couldn't have stopped himself from laughing if he'd tried. It chased the lingering shadows of his nightmare away, no doubt as she'd intended. She somehow always knew what he needed.

Once his laughter had subsided he lifted his face from the side of her neck to lay his forehead on hers,

“You are, without doubt, the strangest person I have ever met.”

“Oh please, you love it.” she smiled, and she was right, he really did, “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle now as she watched his eyes carefully. He knew what she was looking for; his tells. She was searching his eyes for one of the small lies they told themselves, more than they told each other. The quips, nods and shrugs that said 'I'm fine', when they really meant; I'm struggling, I'm drowning, help me. They'd both become adept at reading each others silent cries for help over the last year.

“I am.” he replied, surprised to find that, for tonight at least, he actually was, “You should go back to sleep.”

“I was already awake.” she said, brushing away his concern with a flick of her hand.

A total lie, Cullen knew. Between her duties as The Inquisitor, worrying about him, let alone everyone else in Skyhold, it was a wonder she got any sleep at all. Even without this new group they were facing, three destroyed villages, families being -

 _No, no I am not going to think about that now_.

He had all day to think about that, as he had the day before. And the day before that. He refused to let it disturb his night-time hours as well.

“You are a terrible liar.” he said instead, fondness creeping into his voice, as he pushed the stubborn stray lock of silver hair behind one pointed ear,

“Excuse me!” Ellana said, large violet eyes wide as she pulled away in mock outrage, “I'll have you know I'm an exceptional liar!” She lost her fight with her grin and lifted her head from her pillow to place a kiss onto the tip of his nose, “I'm just terrible at lying to you.”

Cullen was sure that from anyone else that would have sounded vaguely insulting, from Ellana it was sweet.

 

***

 

Morning approached too quickly; the light that filled the room lost much of it's blue hue with the coming dawn. Instead of sleeping, they'd spent a truly indulgent amount of time just enjoying each other's company. Well, indulgent for _them_ , anyway. Despite the early hour they'd both been expecting someone to come knocking at their door before now, even if neither of them voiced it aloud.

They'd closed the Breach, found those responsible, and restored order (with or without anyone's approval), but still their workload hadn't let up. Maybe they'd been a little hasty to tick the 'restored order' box on the checklist. There always seemed to be one more task that required their attention, one more meeting, one more fight. But not here. They had very few rules when it came to their personal lives, but this was a big one; no Inquisition business in bed. The one place in Skyhold they could stubbornly refuse to discuss The Inquisition, and today they were both equally reluctant to leave,

“We're going to be late.” Cullen warned, fully aware he wasn't moving his hand from her hip to allow her to get up. He knew this was likely to be the best part of his day, he was in no hurry to don his armour and go to work.

“I know. Five more minutes.”

“You said that half an hour ago. And again the half hour before that.”

“I mean it this time.” she continued, holding her hand up in a vow, “Five more minutes. How about this one?” she asked, trailing her fingertips over the scar that bisected his upper lip. She had a rather strange affection for that scar, it suited him. Each scar either of them had told a story, most of them harrowing or unpleasant. Making up new stories for them made them more bearable. It was a game, a silly one at that, but harmless fun was therapeutic. Or at least that's what Sera kept saying. The rules were simple, the first to laugh lost.

Cullen already had a story ready for this one,

“Rescuing puppies and orphans from a fire.” he said, without hesitation,

“Puppies _and_ orphans?”

“Just one of my many, many heroic deeds.” he said, stretching his free arm over his head to rest behind his neck, flexing the muscles of his arm and chest,

“Uh-huh.” she raised an eyebrow at his obvious display but her lips were already starting to twitch, “You're very dashing. So, which one gave you the scar? The puppy or the orphan?”

“Alright, you got me,” he sighed dramatically, “I got kicked in the face by a bronto.”

“Oh? I wasn't aware they allowed bronto's in The Circle.” she smiled, oh he had her this time,

“This was in Kirkwall. You think mabaris are intimidating? You should see what some nobles keep as pets.” The image of brontos being led around Kirkwall on leashes was too much, and she cracked. Cullen watched her laugh with a satisfied smile.

_Maker, I will never get enough of that sound._

“Alright, you win.” she patted him on the chest and stretched with a groan before reluctantly dragging herself from their bed.

He watched as she rummaged in a set of drawers and headed for the bathroom. He would never get enough of watching her either. All graceful willowy limbs, subtle curves with a wild mane of silver hair that reached the midpoint of her back, and completely, utterly unaware of how gorgeous she was. When she turned he could see the tattoo that ran across her ribs and had recently been extended up the back of one slim shoulder. It was a design of flowers and vines, each blossom was unique, brightly coloured and represented a different person or story. Her vallaslin was for her people, the flowered tattoos were for her. The newest flowers told the story of The Inquisition and its people.

Once she was in the bathroom Cullen reluctantly got up and found his own clothes, The Inquisition would only wait so long. With each piece of uniform he strapped on, he felt himself shift into Commander mode.

 

 

Ellana's fingers worked on their own accord as they braided her thick, unruly curls into a semblance of order around her head. She barely had to watch herself in the mirror any more and, instead, could let the parade of things she had to do today filter through her mind. The spell of their early morning time off was already beginning to wear away as the list grew. She had meetings with both Leliana and Josephine that morning, some jobs for The Chargers to discuss with Krem, then training with the mages in the afternoon. And, of course, there were The Believers. The newest threat to both Ferelden and Orlais. Also, to The Inquisition itself. She knew The Inquisition was already doing everything it could, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. There had to be something more, but try as she might she couldn't think of anything more they could do. Well, there had been one thing, but Cullen had balked at the mere suggestion. If there was another attack-

 _No,_ she ordered herself, _thinking like that isn't going to help anything, be positive._

Still staring at her reflection she tried her Inquisitor smile, today it looked strained and more of a grimace. That wouldn't do at all, even complete strangers would be able to see through _that_ lacklustre smile. Her Inquisitor mask — her armour against everyone that wasn't part of her small circle — had never failed her yet. _Almost never,_ she corrected herself, for whatever reason, Cullen had seen through it right at the beginning.

“If you've drowned in the sink, Leliana is going to kill me.” Cullen called through the door and the grimace turned into a proper smile. She shook her head, and her melancholy, away,

_He probably knows you're in here brooding, and The Inquisitor does not brood._

She tried her Inquisitor smile again, it was better this time.

_Come on Ellana, you've got this._

 

 

When she emerged she was wearing her usual Skyhold attire; the soft, well-worn hunting leathers and scarf. She was also smiling, but Cullen could see The Inquisitor starting to emerge; control, confidence and sharp wit taking over from the real Ellana she was behind closed doors.

She pulled him down for a quick kiss before they headed for the door, “If The Inquisitor drowned in her own sink on your watch, you'd have more to worry about than Leliana. Dorian would never let you live it down.”

“Threats on my life, and dignity, aside, aren't we expecting to hear from Dorian today?”

They were both concerned about their friend. Ellana had all but begged him to take her or one of the others with him, but he'd refused. Cullen had to admit that Dorian taking a Dalish elf to Tevinter probably wouldn't have been the wisest course of action. Ellana, predictably, hadn't agreed. Poor Dorian had almost been forced to sneak out of the castle to avoid her, but there was no reason he couldn't have taken Blackwall or one of the others with him. Dorian had insisted he wanted to travel alone, hopefully that meant he would be able to travel faster. Of course, it could also be interpreted as part of Dorian's continuous commentary on Blackwall's personal hygiene, or lack thereof. Cullen hoped it was the former, the sooner they knew more about this new threat the better.

“Yes, we agreed a missive every three days so it should be today. I'll feel better once he's home, and we know what we're dealing with. I know he hasn't really been gone all that long, but it sure feels like it.”

“Hmm, I'm familiar with the feeling.” Cullen grinned at her, “At least he didn't have to go all the way to Minrathous itself, that would have been a much longer journey.”

“True, but half-way is long enough. I hope it's worth the trouble and this informant of his is as reliable as Dor believes. And speaking of trouble, Rylen is due back from patrol today as well.” Ellana said as they entered the hall, “Hopefully with less exciting news than Dor.”

Cullen huffed a chuckle. Fingers crossed, Rylen would return some time that afternoon.

“Knowing our luck?”

“A vain hope, it's true.” she added with a small laugh,

“I'll send for you when he arrives.” He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “Try to find time to eat today, please.”

Ellana only ever seemed to remember to eat when someone put food in front of her. Cullen had taken to bringing food to his office, so she'd at least eat when she stopped by to see him.

“Yes, Commander.” she said with a wink as she headed straight across the hall toward Leliana's room.

Straightening his shoulders, Cullen turned towards the main doors. Waking up after only a few hours of sleep had its advantages. Despite being able to spend time with Ellana it was still early, it was a fair trade as far as Cullen was concerned, coffee existed for a reason, after all.

Most of the nobility that spent time in Skyholds Great Hall didn't rise from their rooms for several hours yet, only a few milled around gossiping or inspecting the sets of mosaic tiles that adorned the walls. He was trying to avoid their attention — without causing some offence that would mean him spending half his day being told off by Josephine — when Varric called him over to his table by the fire. As usual, the dwarf was surrounded by papers, inkwells and quills,

“Morning Curly,” Varric said, putting a bookmark into a ledger and closing it,

“Varric. You're at it early.”

“Or late, depending on your perspective.” Varric muttered, his voice somewhat muffled by his hand as he tried to stifle a large yawn. His eyes were looking a little on the red side, not an unusual look for a member of The Inquisition, and the evidence of a sleepless night was scattered among Varrics papers. Coffee cups, some empty and some forgotten and left to go cold, were among the glasses and tankards. The servants knew better than to try to clean up around Varrics table.

“Any word from the Coterie?” Cullen asked, eyeing the tall stack of documents at the dwarfs elbow.

“About the mysterious village attacks you mean?”

“Maker's breath Varric, keep your voice down.” Cullen hissed, glancing around at the nobles,

“From this lot?” Varric scoffed and waved at them, “Don't worry, Curly. They couldn't give a nugs left nut about anything other than how much gold they can line their pockets with and how impressive 'Lea's collection of dragon heads is.”

Cullen glanced around again, nobody was even looking in their direction, he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disgusted.

“Good point.” he muttered, “You were saying?”

“We're shit out of luck. If anything the Coterie's been quieter than usual. Huh, never thought that would be a bad thing. My contacts in Kirkwall say everything is quiet over the Narrow Sea too. Whoever your guys are, they're local.”

“Wonderful.” Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd known that the Coterie was probably going to be a dead end but still... they needed something, _anything_ , to go on.

“Cheer up, Curly, your face is going to stick like that.” Varric said, “I've got a few other people that owe me favours, I'll get in touch, see if something shakes loose.”

“Thanks Varric.”

“No problem. How's Enlea holding up?”

“The usual. “I'm fine” is becoming her catchphrase.”

“She's tough.” Varric shrugged,

“She is,” Cullen agreed, “But it would be nice if she didn't have to be.”

“We got through Corypheus, we'll get through this.”

Cullen nodded and gave him a wave before heading out the doors and descending into the courtyard. A few of the newer recruits were milling around the training area. He'd get them started on drills then head to his office to start on his reports. Hopefully Rylen would return sooner rather than later.

 

 


	3. A flair for the dramatic.

Ellana glanced across The Great Hall on her way to Leliana's quarters, the hall was still quiet by its usual standard. Their well-paid servants swept to and fro with platters; piled high with various breads, meats and cheeses. They were setting them up on the large wooden tables that lined the walls; it was almost time for the residents of Skyhold to emerge and break their fasts. On silent feet the servants scurried about, the small network of mostly ignored people that practically ran the day-to-day duties of Skyhold. Their supervisors watched on, waving them to bring out more food — “Do you have any idea how much a qunari eats? More meat, girl.” — or to clear away rubbish. One was using a candle snuffer to extinguish the candles set high in the chandeliers over their heads, the pole it was attached to was impossibly long, yet the young elf moved it as though he'd been doing so his entire life. Morning sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows behind the Inquisitor's throne and through the open doors at the other end of the room.

The sound of Cullen's heavy footsteps echoed from the stone walls of the hall as Ellana watched him walk toward the large double doors that let to the courtyard. She saw him stop to talk to Varric on his way past, his broad shoulders were silhouetted by the sunlight, the large doorway framing him perfectly.

After a few moments one of the guards standing close by her cleared his throat and threw her a shy grin, and Ellana realised she was staring at Cullen in a way that was most unbecoming of The Inquisitor. Rather than be embarrassed she waved her hand at her Commander — his shoulders almost blocking the light now as he turned with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword — and raised an eyebrow at the guard,

“Come on, can you blame me?” she asked the guard in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. The guard shook his head and shifted his eyes to his feet, a blush that almost matched his red hair was rising in his cheeks under his freckles.

_Creators, he's barely more than a boy_.

She returned his smile, turning to leave when his face clicked into place in her mind, and she turned around, “Tomas? Right?”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Tomas said, his chin jerked up as he looked at her in surprise.

“I recognise you from Haven.”

“My father died at the Conclave, your Worship.”

Ellana nodded, she remembered him now. A boy with red hair that spent half his time running between the tavern and the smithy. He'd been underfoot constantly, never where he should be and desperately wanting to help. Harritt and Flissa had started to give him odd jobs just to keep him out of the way, but he'd saved them so much time simply running messages that they'd declared him vital to The Inquisition.

“I'm sorry about your father, Tomas.” There had been so many people that had lost a loved one at the Conclave, she couldn't remember if she'd already told him she was sorry. He didn't seem to mind if she was repeating herself, he inclined his head, his smile turning a little warmer,

“I joined up properly as soon as Commander Cullen said I was old enough.” His chest puffed out proudly, the symbol of The Inquisition on his uniform was polished until it twinkled in the light.

“And has The Inquisition been treating you well?”

“Yes, Inquisitor. No complaints, Inquisitor.”

“Good.” she nodded, “Maker keep you, Tomas.”

“Sylaise guide your steps, Inquisitor.” Tomas blushed again and his eyes returned to his feet. Ellana was taken aback, but pleased, by his use of elven. The people of Skyhold would never cease to amaze her, she reached out to touch his arm before turning back to the stairs.

_That boy should be in a tavern flirting with barmaids, not prepared for battle with a sword strapped to his hip,_ she thought with a scowl, _this needs to be over soon._

The only way to get these young men and women home was to make sure The Inquisition was no longer needed; it was time to focus, and time to work.

Leliana was her first appointment of the day.

_With any luck, Leliana will have had word in the night._ Ellana thought to herself as she climbed the stairs to the spymasters quarters. Though, as Cullen had rightfully pointed out, knowing their luck? Well, they had to get lucky at some point. Right?

The Believers; even in her head the name sounded melodramatic and cliched. With a name like that, Ellana had been hoping they'd have a flair for the dramatic. Some reckless need for recognition that The Inquisition could take advantage of, but so far they'd been careful.

_Though, to be fair, an_ _organisation_ _called The Inquisition hardly had much of a right to call other names dramatic,_ she thought with a rueful grin.

 

Despite the early hour, Leliana's tower-top quarters bustled with activity; hooded messengers and scouts navigated the chaos with practised ease, moving with purpose as they exchanged notes or a few words. They nodded politely at Ellana as she shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot at her spot at the top of the stairs,

“Inquisitor.” Leliana greeted her with a wave and a small enigmatic smile from where she stood with one of her agents by her desk; a little sea of calm in the centre.

A few of the scouts laughed good-naturedly behind their hands as the Inquisitor, arms straight up over her head and eyes on her feet, tiptoed carefully around the many precariously balanced crates. Only once had she knocked over a stack of those crates, never again! The hundreds of birds in the rafters had taken to wing in one feathery cloud, the resulting mess had been unbelievable. It was a wonder Leliana had allowed her back. The caws and ruffling of many feathers disguised her footsteps and the creak of the wooden floor as she crossed the room. How their spymaster got any work done surrounded by this racket was a mystery to her, but the noise did do a marvellous job of drowning out any private conversations, even if you did have to almost shout to make yourself heard over their din,

“Good morning, Leliana.” Ellana smiled once she finally reached Leliana's desk. The smile soon drooped once the agent Leliana had been whispering with moved away to reveal the stack of folders and papers stacked next to the spymasters elbow, “Well, doesn't that look like fun.” she said sarcastically, staring at dismay at the documents, “I don't suppose you have any -” before she could finish her request Leliana was holding a mug of strong smelling coffee out to her. Steam still swirled around the rim, Ellana wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she'd been told that Leliana had someone watching for when she was on her way,

“I wouldn't dream of depriving you of your caffeine, Inquisitor.” Leliana teased, amusement lacing her melodic voice,

“You wouldn't get any work out of me if you did.” Ellana joked, closing her eyes in appreciation when the hot, sweet drink hit the back of her throat; Leliana made the best coffee, “Is the missive from Dorian hidden amongst all of that exciting looking paper-work?”

“I'm afraid not. I will keep an eye out for it and send it along when it arrives. Shall we get to work?”

 

After what felt like hours — and many, _many_ , cups of coffee — they had finally gone through everything that needed the Inquisitors stamp of authority, and Leliana leant back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.

As intimidating as Ellana sometimes still found their spymaster, she trusted Leliana's judgement. There were only a few details on which they disagreed. The two women had butted heads much more frequently in the early days of The Inquisition. Leliana, still mourning the death of her friend, Divine Justinia, had been a hard task master, almost to the point of ruthlessness. Ellana, on the other-hand, had still been quite naïve. She'd been reluctant to use the true force of The Inquisition, even when the situation demanded it. Over time, Leliana had softened somewhat and, in turn, Ellana had learned that sometimes the difficult decisions needed to be made. They'd found a middle ground of sorts, and since then they got on remarkably better.

Still, Ellana always felt woefully out of her depth when it came to Leliana's spy network; everything was so subtle and intricate. Her head was buzzing with information and code names when Leliana finally closed the last file. Thankfully she'd managed to get through the meeting without suggesting something too embarrassing.

“As you can see, we have no new information on The Believers.” Leliana frowned at the folders in her out-tray, as though they were to blame for not providing the information they needed. Ellana busied herself re-filling their cups, Leliana took hers with a tired but grateful smile, “We have agents everywhere, but so far The Believers have evaded them. No one has seen their arrival or departure from the villages they attack, it's as though they just disappear.”

“I know it's discouraging, Leliana, but I also know you're doing your best, and so are your agents.” It was much easier to say this than it was to believe, Ellana knew that better than anyone, but that didn't mean it didn't need to be said.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” Leliana said, gracing Ellana with one of her rare soft smiles, “We just need more information, but it seems the only way we're going to get that is if they attack another village.”

“I'd rather stop them _before_ that happens.”

“As would I. But with no new information, I'm afraid you must steel yourself for the possibility that may not happen.”

“I've never been very good at steeling myself.” Ellana muttered, she tried to push her hands through her hair and scowled at herself when all she did was get her fingers caught in her crown of braids.

“I didn't believe it when Alistair said it, and I don't believe it when you say it either.” Leliana's smile this time was fond, vaguely reminiscent, it was the smile she only ever seemed to wear when she remembered her time travelling with the Hero of Ferelden. All too soon the smile dropped as Leliana shook herself, her expression turning serious once more, “You do what you must, as we all do. We somehow found the information we needed to stop Corypheus, we can do it again.”

“I know, it's just -”

“Frustrating?”

“Infuriating. The Believers are coming from somewhere, they must have a base of operations.” Ellana sighed, this was something she'd said before, but with the lack of leads she found herself repeating it anyway just to have something to say.

“I agree.” Leliana nodded, “They are far too organised for that to be anything but true. Still, my agents have heard nothing. I'll keep them out in the field for a little while longer, perhaps we will get lucky.”

“And there's nothing that ties these villages together? They don't have anything in common?”

“No, nothing.”

Ellana thought for a moment; three tiny, out of the way, villages. Their only significance was to the people that had called them home. Guilt caused her stomach to twist uncomfortably as she thought of the notes left at each village. The Believers had made it abundantly clear what she had to do to make the attacks stop. Leliana cleared her throat, politely bringing Ellana's attention back to her. She realised she'd been tapping her fingers on the desk, her leg bounced up and down of its own accord, she forced her body to behave itself and wrapped her hands around her now empty mug,

“Did you speak to Commander Cullen regarding your plan?” Leliana asked,

“Several times.” Ellana replied, a wry grin pulling at her mouth — despite the situation — as she recalled the conversation, “He still thinks it's an unnecessary risk.”

Leliana raised one copper brow at her from under her hood, her own lips twitching, “An unnecessary risk?”

“Well, I rather think the exact phrasing might be inappropriate for polite conversation, but it contained the words; trap, suicide, insane, over my dead body, and “did Leliana put you up to this?”” Ellana finished, with a fairly decent imitation of Cullen, “I think he'll take some convincing.”

“That _does_ sound more like him.” Leliana said with a small laugh, “Still, he should be prepared, this is the only plan we have. Regardless of how “unnecessary” he finds the risk, it may be our only choice. However, the fact remains that we cannot put your plan into action until we know more. In the meantime perhaps my spies will find something useful.”

“I'll keep my fingers crossed. If there's nothing else?”

“That's all for now, thank you Inquisitor. I'll send a message if anything comes up that requires your attention.”

Ellana pushed her chair out from the desk and was painstakingly retracing her steps back to the stairs when Leliana called her name,

“Ellana?” When she turned Leliana was holding an apple in one gloved hand, “Commanders orders.” She tossed it to her with a wink and a too-sweet smile before returning her attention to her work. Ellana rolled her eyes, that's what she got for thinking she hadn't embarrassed herself.

 

Her meeting with Josephine had gone much the same way. She hadn't had to struggle to make herself heard over ravens, and there was less risk of knocking over boxes, but her head was still buzzing by the time she left the ambassador's office. With the names and lines of noble houses this time, rather than the code names and locations of their spies. There were just so many of them, and they all sounded so similar that she had a hard time keeping them in line.

The lineage of Ferelden and Orlesian nobility wasn't something she'd needed to trouble herself with when she'd been travelling with her clan. What did the Dalish care how the nobility structured itself? She'd learned a lot in the last year, and she wasn't finished yet. Josephine had endless patience — _thank The Creators for small mercies_ — and had been happy to teach her, even if Ellana wasn't always the best pupil.

The nobility were a tricky breed, and so very easy to offend! Gods forbid she call one house by another's name. She _still_ recalled the reaction she'd received when she'd mixed up houses Dever and Derveraux at The Winter Palace. She'd thought she was about to start another war before Josephine had managed to drag her away before she'd made matters worse. Their poor ambassador had been busier than a one-handed nug herder trying to make amends for that one.

The meeting with Krem had gone much better, though that may have been because her meetings about The Chargers usually came accompanied by ale.

_I should suggest that to Leliana and Josephine,_ Ellana thought, smothering a hiccup as she left The Heralds Rest. It probably wouldn't help her to keep track of everything, but after a few tankards of Cabot's finest, she didn't think she'd mind quite so much.

Krem was _finally_ starting to get used to calling her Ellana, rather than Inquisitor. It had taken awhile, but he finally seemed to be relaxing a little more around her and be a little less formal. Rylen was the only one of their friends that still insisted upon calling her by title, rather than name, though Ellana was sure that he only did it half the time just to tease her.

She was on her way to her final stop of the day — the mage tower — when one of Leliana's messengers approached her with a letter. Dorian's looping handwriting graced the front;

_My dearest Inquisitor..._

Ellana rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she eagerly ripped the envelope open. She read it through once quickly then had to go back and read it again as she tried to decipher what, exactly, he was trying to say. He'd carefully written in a way that avoided passing on any information if the letter had been intercepted.

_You're getting paranoid, Dor._ Ellana thought with a shake of her head,

_It's not paranoia if they're really after you, Ell._ Replied Dorian's voice in her head.

_My dearest Inquisitor,_ he'd written.

_I have some marvellous gossip from my delightful homeland, you're going to love it. These friends of mine! You won't believe the hi-jinx they get up to. It's far too good, and long, a story to put into a letter. But fear not, I am beginning my return! Your favourite and most handsome friend will be back in your company soon._

_Do try not to have too much fun without me._

So he did have something to share but didn't want to put it in a letter, that could only mean it was bad news. He'd have complained about the trip being boring if he'd found nothing. Though, at this point, any news he had, be it good or bad, could only be helpful. So far they had nothing; no leads, no plan. Well, no plan they could put into action now.

She eyed that last line again; _try not to have too much fun without me._ What did that mean? Was it just a throw-away line? It did read like something he would say. Or was he telling her to be careful?

At least it sounded like he was on his way back, she'd be able to ask him herself soon enough.

She brought herself up short when she realised she was at the door to the mage tower, so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed where her feet were taking her. She tucked the letter into her belt as she entered the tower to round the mages up for their afternoon training session.

The continuing training of The Inquisitions mages had been an ambitious undertaking when she'd first offered her services. Of course, at the time there had been three others to share the responsibility with her. With Dorian away on his mission, Vivienne leaving for The College of Enchanters and Solas just vanishing, it had fallen squarely on her. Teaching the mages had come to her somewhat naturally; it had taken everyone, with the exception of Cullen, by total surprise. Though no one was more shocked than Ellana herself. The bursts of pride that warmed her whenever they mastered something new made all the effort worth it, though she wouldn't complain if there was someone to help.

_If Solas was here..._ she stopped herself from wondering where he was for the hundredth time. The less thought put into it the better. She still missed that blighted elf.

 

 

 


	4. No one liked to be the bearer of bad news.

It was almost evening by the time Rylen and his patrol arrived back at Skyhold. Cullen was, as usual, in his office; figuratively buried in paperwork and training schedules. Almost literally too, The Believers impact on his in-tray had not been insignificant. He was so focused on his work that he started a little when his door flew open with a bang, heralding Rylen's arrival. The recent snowfall on the mountains still dusted the shoulders of Rylen's uniform, his heavy boots left damp patches of slush with every step he took across the small office. A report was held tight in one hand, he brandished it in front of him as he strode purposefully over to Cullen's desk.

Cullen barely had time to register that his most trusted lieutenant hadn't knocked when Rylen spoke, “Commander, we've got another one.”

“Makers breath.” Cullen cursed with a groan, when he'd wanted news from Rylen's patrol, this really wasn't the news he'd been hoping for.

Cullen's fellow ex-Templar looked tired and worn from the trip, new lines that hadn't been there a year ago creased the skin around his eyes, though how much of that was from lyrium withdrawal and how much was caused by the news he was delivering, Cullen didn't know.

Cullen stood and hastily shuffled the folders and papers that were scattered across his desk into a disorderly pile and dumped it on the floor. It was not at all like him to treat his paperwork in such a way, but the expression on Rylen's face was enough for him to dispense with his usual painstaking organisation. With the papers off to one side, he unrolled a large, dog-eared map onto his desk and threw a couple of weights down to hold the corners in place. Rylen moved past him to make his mark; a large scratched X through a village.

For a few moments the two men stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, staring at the map and the newest mark. Three other villages were marked in a similar way; large X's marked by a different hand. Different X's, but they meant the same thing. That brought their total to four. Four decimated villages in just a few months, and they were no closer to finding the people responsible.

Four marks, four villages, four acts of murder and destruction. Four totally unremarkable villages. Four random hits with no rhyme, no reason and no hint as to where or when they would strike next.

“And the villagers?” Cullen asked, he could already hear the resignation in his voice. If this _was_ The Believers, then he already knew the answer, all he needed was confirmation.

“Same as the others. One dead from every household.” Rylen sighed.

Cullen saw more than felt his hand form a fist on his desk. His teeth ground together as he gave Rylen a curt nod of acknowledgement.

_Four villages?! Andraste preserve them. Four fucking -_

He swallowed back his own sigh as it tried to escape his throat.

There was no denying it was them: The Believers. The villages might be different, but the pattern was the same. They chose one person from each family to die before burning every building to the ground, leaving the survivors homeless.

_A Maker-forsaken scorched earth response against civilians, against people that have no chance of fighting back._

It was enough to make his blood boil in anger.

The Inquisition had offered all the refugees sanctuary. Most of them came, grateful for somewhere to go. A few had friends of family that they could rely on. A small number from each village were, however, resentful.

 _Understandably resentful,_ Cullen thought.

They were wrong, but he could sympathise; given the circumstances he might have resented The Inquisition if he had been in their position.

“How many refugees?” he asked once his jaw unclenched enough for him to speak,

“Around forty, I'd wager.” Rylen answered without looking at him, his gaze was still pinned to the map. There was something about seeing those four marks that made it hit home; this wasn't just some isolated incident, wasn't just a bunch of over-zealous bandits. It was real, targeted and intentional, “Some had other places to go, the rest are on their way to Haven. I left some men to escort them.”

“Good. The last thing these people need right now is to be set upon by bandits on the road.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he quickly calculated the distance between the village and Haven, the part of his mind that lived for nothing but logic and planning was already running the logistics of adding that many people to a town that was already verging on over-populated, “It won't take them long to arrive. The village they're coming from isn't far, and the traders have been doing an excellent job of keeping the roads clear.”

Rylen finally looked up, grabbing at Cullen's excuse to be practical and plan rather than worry, “Aye,” he nodded, “It's a good thing we started rebuilding Haven when we did, we'd never have crammed them all in Skyhold.”

“Food will start to become a problem soon, how are the stores?”

“They're holding for the time being, have no fear, we don't need to worry about people starving.” Rylen pulled a sheet of paper with their latest stock-take from a report and held it out for Cullen to see for himself, “A few farmers in Haven are talking about setting up crops, sorta getting their lives back, you know? But the ground is still frozen solid.”

“Farming? Really?” Cullen asked; the resilience of people would never fail to surprise him,

“Aye, but until it thaws we're still relying on traders and whatever we can grow in Skyhold.”

Cullen glanced at the stock-take before placing it in his overflowing in-tray for a more thorough look later, “There's land next to the stables that isn't being used, I'll have people start planting there. I'd rather not have to resort to rationing; these people have been through enough.”

Cullen braced his hands on his desk, letting his head fall forward as his gaze was dragged back to the map. He glared at the newest mark; a tiny, out-of-the-way village. Full of people that couldn't possibly have done anything to bring this kind of devastation down upon themselves.

The wooden floor creaked as Rylen shifted his weight from foot to foot at his side. From the corner of his eye Cullen saw the man's free hand clench into a fist and relax again, his arms swinging a little away from his body. Cullen held his breath for a moment, dread pooling in his stomach,

 _Not another one, please not another one._ He silently begged, _I don't want to witness the pain on Ellana's face if there's another one._

Rylen shifted his weight again and passed the folder from one hand to the other. Cullen knew why he was hovering, why he hadn't handed Cullen the folder and dismissed himself. No one liked to be the bearer of bad news. Giving your commanding officer bad news was never something a soldier wanted to do, it was even worse when that commanding officer was your friend.

 _It's even harder when it's your lover,_ Cullen thought bitterly, already dreading the conversation he'd have to have with Ellana if his instincts were right.

The dread made its way up his spine to sit in the back of his neck, making it ache.

“Was there something else, Rylen?” Cullen asked when he couldn't take the tension any longer,

“There was another note, Commander.” Rylen said in a rush.

_Damn._

Rylen removed it from his report and placed it on the desk next to Cullen's hand. Cullen let his eyes slide closed as he released the breath he was holding on one long exhale. Of course there was another blighted note, sometimes he hated being right,

“And The Inquisitor?” he asked,

“Doesn't know yet,” Rylen replied, “I came straight here.”

“Left the fun part to me, did you?” Cullen said dryly, finally opening his eyes to meet Rylen's. He waved a dismissive hand when it looked as though Rylen was about to offer to deliver the news on his behalf, “I'll tell her. Could you round the others up and meet us in The Den? Give us half an hour or so.”

“Will do.” Rylen left his report on Cullen's desk and headed toward the door before looking back at Cullen over his shoulder, “I'm sorry, Cullen.”

“As am I.”

“Tell the lady Inquisitor I said the same.”

Cullen nodded but didn't answer, and he heard the door close softly as Rylen left him alone. With a sigh he dropped back into his abandoned chair, he propped his elbows on the top of his desk, steepled his fingers and rested his forehead on his thumbs. Red X's danced behind his eyelids when he blinked. He ground his knuckles into his eyes, it didn't help.

Four villages.

Four.

How many people was that in total? He didn't want to do the maths. The number didn't matter, the answer would always be too many. And they had nothing. Not a single damn lead.

Rolling the map up in disgust he pulled himself from his chair and paced to the window. With Corypheus dead, they'd expected things to get easier, they'd been wrong. Problem after problem had been brought to their door in the months since he'd been defeated. Cullen was no longer sure how many of these problems were a direct result of people trying to challenge them, The Believers were certainly a retaliation.

He rested his forehead on the cool glass. He was tired. They were all tired. Some days it seemed they'd never just be done, be finished. When they'd set out to build The Inquisition their goal had been to end the war, to restore order. While they'd accomplished the first part, it seemed that order had no intention of reinstating itself. It left him wondering if it had ever been there to start with.

 _Are we fighting a losing battle?_ He wondered.

The idealist in him balked at the suggestion, but the truth was; he just didn't know any more.

What he _was_ sure about, was that, at least for now, The Inquisition was still needed, they weren't going anywhere any time soon.

Had he really been laughing with Ellana in bed that morning? It felt like days ago.

He shook the melancholy away and stiffened his spine. He still had a job to do. Right now, part of that job was to go and tell The Inquisitor that another village had all but been destroyed.

It seemed that Corypheus' legacy lived on.

It was almost dusk; Ellana would be training with the mages.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn't going to take this well.

 


	5. A chance to heal.

Most of the mages had either voluntarily returned to the newly reinstated, and reformed, Circle of magi or left with Vivienne to join the College of Enchanters. A few, however, had decided to remain within The Inquisition. After a promise from Ellana to watch over them, the Divine had granted permission. Sometimes it helped to have friends in high places, even if Cullen sometimes had a hard time picturing his friend at the head of The Chantry (and she'd been right, she really didn't look good in hats).

The mages had their own tower within Skyhold, just off the courtyard, where they were able to study and practice their craft in peace.

A few small incidents aside, The Inquisition mages and Templars had an excellent working relationship. Of course, it helped that, despite being a mage, and Dalish to boot, Ellana held great respect for The Templars. Her opinion of the men in the sunburst uniform was far higher than it was for the power that controlled them, though if Cassandra had her way it wouldn't only be the Circle going through a reform. The Chantry may yet gain the respect of The Inquisitor. If anyone was capable of making the change, it was Cassandra.

_Ellana respects what's left of The Templars, at any rate,_ Cullen amended bitterly.

Even after everything that had happened to him, and his own opinions on The Chantry, it still stung to see what had happened to the once proud order. Corypheus had corrupted most of their number. Under the new Divine they were starting to rebuild, but progress was slow. The vast majority of Templars that had joined The Inquisition had chosen to stay.

While the mage tower in Skyhold wasn't officially part of the Circle, they had chosen to uphold some Circle rules; blood magic, for example, was forbidden. Other rules they had changed or done away with all together, such as the rite of tranquillity. Most mages feared the rite, for very good reasons, Ellana, however, abhorred it with a passion. There were very few things that Ellana truly hated, but the rite of tranquillity placed very high on the list. She'd execute someone before using the brand. Had done so in fact, Cullen thought as he remembered Erimond, and remembered Ellana's insistence that she wield the executioners' blade herself. Her decision, her job, her responsibility, she'd told him. Her conscience was what she'd meant.

One of the major differences between the Circle and Skyholds mage tower was the relationship between the mages and Templars: here, they were expected to work together, not just along-side each other. It had done much to dispel prejudices on both sides, especially after the war. Cullen had been sceptical at first; keeping the two groups at odds with each other had been something the Circle had used to its advantage and, as unpleasant as it had been, it had been effective. Ellana had persuaded him to try, and as reluctant as he might have been to admit it, she'd been right. There had been a few altercations, more so in the early days, but the tide was turning in their favour. Their mages and Templars had an accord that any Circle in Thedas would envy.

Change, of course, didn't just happen overnight. Cullen wasn't foolish enough to believe either group trusted the other — there was far too much bad blood on both sides — but trust was a worthy goal to work toward.

It had turned out that Cullen's fear of abominations had been groundless, at least so far. At some point he was sure that someone was bound to mistake Ellana's compassion for easy pickings. Woe betide the first idiot that thought The Inquisition a soft touch. The Templars may have exchanged their Chantry sunburst uniforms for that of The Inquisition, but Templars they remained.

Lyrium was still a necessary evil when it came to the Templars themselves, but here, unlike The Chantry, lyrium wasn't mandatory. He and Ellana had created a clinic shortly after their arrival at Skyhold, the sole purpose of which was to aid any Templars that wished to stop taking lyrium. It had proved very successful. Lyrium was freely available to those that wanted it, but some men, such as Rylen, that had wanted to stop had been able to do so safely. It was a cause that was close to Cullen's heart and one of The Inquisitions accomplishments he was most proud of.

The Inquisition's mage tower had no Grand Enchanter, so Ellana had taken over much of their training personally, particularly their combat training. She had commandeered one of the unused ramparts where they could practice without the risk of hurting anyone or damaging anything.

As Cullen approached he could see her leading them in drills. Dummies were set up in a row, and they were practising basic hand-to-hand techniques with their staffs. He stood back as Ellana demonstrated a move for them. He winced when her staff connected with the dummy. She'd perfected that move with him; his shield arm gave a twinge in memory of the ache he'd had in the days after.

 

“It's all about footwork and small tells. If you -” movement caught Ellana's eye mid-sentence, she glanced over and saw Cullen waiting for her at the top of the steps. She felt her heart sink, not a feeling she usually associated with seeing him, but he never interrupted her training of the mages unless it was an emergency. She caught sight of the folder in his hands and felt her heart sink even lower.

_Shit, another village attack?_

It had to be. If it had been anything else he'd have waited until she arrived at his office.

Hoping they wouldn't pick up on her distress, she turned her gaze back to the mages,

“If you watch for their attacks and side-step, it often leaves their ribs wide open. You need to watch your targets shoulders, the roll of their hips, not their arms. If you see the sword moving then it's usually too late.” She risked one more quick glance at Cullen, he'd shifted the folder behind his thigh, and inclined his head as he heard her repeating the exact words he'd once told her in their own training, “Alright, that's enough for today.” she told the mages, “I'll see you all back here tomorrow, well done everyone.”

The cheer in her voice felt strained, but the mages didn't seem to notice. She was sure Cullen could tell, he always did, but she was able to fool most people. It had been Cullen that had first called her persona her Inquisitor mask; the name worked well.

“Inquisitor!” A young woman with bright red hair was almost jumping up and down on the spot, “Inquisitor, I finally got the hang of that frost spell you were teaching us last week.”

“Well done!” Ellana groped for her name, something beginning with a T? Triss? Trudy? Damn, she should know this, “Feel up to a demonstration tomorrow?”

“Tina?” one of the older mages called across the battlements, Tina, that was it, “Don't bother The Inquisitor.” Tina's face fell, the beaming smile sliding from her features like water,

“Hey, don't worry, Tina.” Ellana said, stretching the forced smile as wide as it would go, “I have to go now, top secret business and all that,” she winked at the young mage and was rewarded with a small giggle, “But I'll stop by the tower in the morning and you can show me then, alright?”

“Yes, your Worship.” Ellana controlled the flinch, she was _never_ going to become comfortable with that honorific, “Thank you.” the large smile was back on the mages face as she followed the others to the tower.

_At least I've been able to do one thing right today,_ Ellana thought, heading toward Cullen and allowing her Inquisitor mask to fall away.

 

Even after all this time, the change from Inquisitor to Ellana sometimes took Cullen by surprise. Her entire demeanour changed, right down to the way she stood.

“Fenedhis, not another one.” she groaned as she reached his side. He fell in next to her as they made their way down the stairs,

“I'm afraid so, Rylen dropped the report at my office a few minutes ago.” He handed her the folder, made out in Rylen's neat, concise script. Cullen kept an eye on her as they walked; Ellana was clumsy at the best of times, he stopped her from stumbling down the stairs twice as she read, she barely seemed to notice. It didn't take long to read. It was almost word-for-word the exact same as the other three they had, she'd finished reading before they reached the courtyard.

“Four. Dammit.” she said, tapping the now closed folder against her thigh; her restless hands that were only ever still when they were alone together, or she was in combat, “It has a smaller population than the last one, it's depressing as hell that I'm seeing that as a silver lining at this point. When are we expecting the refugees to arrive?”

“Rylen wasn't specific, but if my calculations are right then it won't be long. Moving that many people is slow going, but they're not far away. I'll have a word with Josephine, see if we can get the traders to come through Haven more frequently, we're going to have more mouths to feed. We do have stockpiles, hopefully that'll last until we can find a more permanent solution. Housing is the biggest problem at the moment. People are arriving faster than we can build. Luckily, there's no shortage of field tents if we can't get more houses built in time.”

As usual, Cullen already had things well in hand.

_Creators, what would I do without him?_ Ellana thought, _but field tents?_

She glanced up at the darkening sky. Field tents were fine for an emergency, but they couldn't expect people to live in them for any length of time. These were civilians, not soldiers. They were accustomed to warm houses and soft beds.

“It's cold in the mountains.” she said thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip, “Solas' old quarters are large, we could squeeze three families in there if we had to.”

Cullen was surprised she'd make the suggestion. Solas had been part friend, part mentor to her during his time with The Inquisition. When he'd vanished without a word of goodbye it had cut her deep, he knew she still missed his guidance. For a while she'd left his room completely undisturbed in the hopes he'd return. When that hope died she'd packed his things herself without a word and put them away. The mural he'd painted was all that remained. At least Cassandra and Vivienne wrote,

“Are you sure?” he asked, “I know Solas' leaving was hard on you.”

“It's fine, he's not coming back, and Creator knows these people need the room more than we do.” Her mind briefly flashed to the notes they'd found at every burned out village. Guilt, sudden and sharp, twisted her stomach. She hadn't found a note in this file, but that didn't mean there hadn't been one, “We owe them that much, at the very least.” she muttered bitterly, mostly to herself.

Ellana was many things, bitter wasn't one of them. Taking her by the elbow, Cullen tugged her into the relative privacy of the shadows cast by the battlements,

“Are you alright?” he asked,

“Sorry, I — that wasn't directed at you.” she said, scuffing the dirt around her feet with the toe of one foot. He tilted her chin up until she met his eyes,

“That doesn't answer my question,”

“I know. I'm just — “ she didn't have the words to explain to him how utterly useless she felt. Weren't things supposed to have gotten better by now? People were supposed to have had a chance to heal, to rebuild. While the fear of The Believers hung over them, it simply wasn't going to happen.

_And how much of that is your fault?_ A voice asked in the back of her head.

“Four villages, Cullen. Four villages.”

“You _do_ know none of this is your fault?”

“I think that is a matter of opinion.” she replied, half her mouth turned up in a sardonic smile, “Did you think I wouldn't notice that you'd taken the note out of this file?”

“It's the same as the others.” His eyes skipped evasively away from hers.

Dear, sweet Cullen. Always trying to protect her. She still didn't quite understand why he'd decided to saddle himself with an emotional Dalish mage.

She cocked one eyebrow at him and held out a hand. After a few moments he sighed and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

Cullen watched her as she read the few words, she tried to hide it from him, but the sadness in her eyes made his chest ache. She carefully folded it back up and slipped it into the folder without comment,

“You can't blame yourself.” he told her, as he had done the last three times he'd had to watch that pain in her eyes,

“I'm not.”

“Your lying hasn't improved since this morning.”

_Yes, this morning. When instead of putting your efforts into stopping The Believers you selfishly — Oh hell no_ , she cut the thought off, _I refuse to feel guilty about that._

“I know.” It was the closest she could come without admitting out-loud that she blamed herself for everything that happened in the targeted villages. Instead, she leant forward until her forehead rested against Cullen's chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his cheek laying on the top of her head. She took a few deep breaths, breathing in the smell of him; leather and soap, and something deep underneath that he was him. That scent meant strength, honesty, integrity, everything he was. She let it steady her, let the steel work it's way back into her spine.

“What are we going to do?” he murmured into her hair.

_First things first,_ she decided, _enough with the negativity and self-pity._

Feeling guilty wasn't helping anyone. They had a job to do, and by the Gods they were going to do it. One step at a time.

“What we always do: make it up as we go along and hope for the best.” Her heart lightened at his huff of laughter, as weary as it was, it was better than nothing.

“Saving the world through the power of bullshit?”

“The unofficial Inquisition motto.” she said with a nod, pulling back to smile up at him, “Alright, I'm fine. Really. Let's focus on the refugees for now.”

“I'll get concrete numbers from Rylen and, if you're sure, I'll have someone set beds up in Solas' old room.”

“I'm sure. Thank you.” It would certainly be odd to have someone living in Solas' quarters, but it was much better than field tents. Damn, they could have her rooms if space was that much of an issue.

“Don't worry, we'll find homes for them all.”

“Not if we don't put a stop to this soon.” she said, turning things back to the matter at hand, “Have you informed the others?”

“Not yet. I asked them to meet us in The Den, we can tell them together.”

“Oh joy of joys.” Ellana said dryly, “We need to tell them all of it, Cullen. It's past time, really.”

They'd been keeping a few details of the attacks secret. Nothing that would impede their investigations, of course. The notes were the major thing. They couldn't keep it a secret any longer. She had dreaded having to tell everyone, no doubt it would be the talk of Skyhold in no time. Sometimes she swore their keep had ears. On the other hand, it would be a relief, she hated keeping secrets from their friends.

“I know.” Cullen said, having come to the same conclusion, “Should be a fun conversation, I'd feel better if we had something positive to say. The tiniest of leads would do at this point. Did the missive from Dorian arrive?”

“Yes, just before I had to meet the mages. He's fine, and on his way back with news. He didn't want to put it in a letter in case it was intercepted.”

“Well, that's something at least. Maybe he'll be able to tell us more about who we're dealing with.”

“In the meantime.” she nodded towards the tavern, “It's my turn to buy the drinks. I've got ten silvers that say I can get Varric to say “Well, shit” at least three times.”

“Four, and you've got a deal.”

“Done.” she said with a grin; it was a suckers bet, she'd have gone as high as five, “You know, sometimes I think I've been a bad influence on you.”

“You'll get no arguments from me.” Cullen muttered under his breath, she swatted his arm playfully with the folder, “Hey!” he protested, “It's not my fault you came along and corrupted me.”

“ _I_ corrupted _you?_ Remind me, who jumped whom on the War Room table?” She pretended to think about it, but he leant forward and distractingly brushed his lips along her jaw,

“I don't recall you complaining at the time.” he whispered in her ear, his lips just grazing the lobe and making her shiver. She turned to catch his mouth with her own,

“I'm not complaining now. Hey, if they're all in The Den, that means the War Room's empty, right?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows suggestively,

“Nice try.” he laughed, he took her hand and tugged her back out of the shadows,

“Fine, let's get this over and done with.” She lifted up on her toes and pressed one more quick kiss against his lips, “Thank you,” she said, meaning a lot more than just cheering her up and giving her strength, “I needed that.”

_I need you._

“So did I.”

She looked up at his profile, he did look less troubled than he had when he'd arrived at the battlements. She wondered if she helped him even marginally as much as he helped her. Creators, she hoped so. Giving his hand a quick squeeze they headed for the tavern.

“This would be a lot easier if we had something even resembling a plan.” Cullen muttered, as much to himself as to Ellana,

“I have a plan.” she reminded him, “You just don't like it.”

He frowned slightly, he really hadn't liked that plan. Why was this her first reaction to any threat?

_Oh, look, a new enemy is threatening the people! I'll just throw myself into an obvious trap and fight my way back out again!_

When had that ever worked out? Going by their track record, The Believers would be able to change time or other such nonsense. Time travel aside, at least at Redcliffe Castle the trap had made tactical sense. Lack of information alone made this pure madness.

“I have this strange aversion to you walking into a death trap. I've no idea why, I'm just funny that way.” he replied sarcastically,

“Leliana thought it was a good idea.”

_Of course she did,_ Cullen thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, “That's because Leliana is nearly as crazy as you are. Double or nothing this lot agrees with me?”

“You're on. Meet me on the roof after?”

“Of course. I need to collect my winnings.”

 

 


	6. Pardon my language.

The busy tavern seemed rowdier than usual after the quiet outside. Cullen and Ellana were met by a chorus of hails from the various patrons; a mixture of soldiers, civilians and nobles filled every table. Even the people that were only passing through Skyhold made a point of visiting The Heralds Rest, it was almost as famous — or infamous — as their battles. Half of The Bulls Chargers were at the bar, leading a crowd in a loud, out of tune, rendition of 'Sera was never'.

Cabot, the gruff dwarven bartender, spotted them the moment they entered. He had a rag in one hand and was wiping down the bar, the other he raised at them in greeting,

“Drinks have gone up.” he hollerred over the din. Ellana pulled a small pouch of gold from her belt and tossed it over to him, enough to cover their drinks for the night plus a little extra. He caught it out of the air with his free hand and a nod of thanks.

As Ellana and Cullen headed for the stairs the sound of their friends could be heard even over the noise in the bar. The half-crazy bunch of misfits that had somehow become family during their months fighting Corypheus.

Their number might have reduced, but the amount of noise they make certainly hasn't, Cullen thought wryly. Judging by the slow smile spreading across Ellana's face, she was thinking something similar.

The Den was on the top floor; it was an old, unused bedroom that Ellana had converted herself while healing from her fight with Corypheus. At the time, Skyhold had been inundated by a horde of visiting nobility, all wanting to give the Herald of Andraste their thanks and good wishes (suckling at the power-teat, Varric had called it. Josephine had been furious, Cullen had silently agreed with him). Her team had needed some room to be together away from all that. So Ellana had given them The Den. It was a small and cramped space that she'd filled with a too-large rectangular table and an assorted mishmash of chairs that she'd begged, borrowed and stolen from other areas of the keep. She had got a little carried away and painted a mural of each of them on the bare, wooden walls. That particular endeavour had earned her a barrage of good-natured teasing, and rightfully so, it was universally agreed that the paintings were awful. Embarrassed, she'd tried to get rid of them, the others had promptly stolen her brushes, so the paintings remained. Apparently, they all had a rather strange affection for them. This was utter bullshit in Ellana's opinion; it was so they could bring the damn things up every time they wanted an excuse to tease her.

The room was cramped, but cosy, and was where they held their informal meetings that didn't require the use of the War Room,

“Yo, Boss!” Bull's booming voice called across the room the second Ellana and Cullen pushed open the door. His huge head swung toward them, his horns almost knocking Sera from her seat as she leant back to avoid them, “Settle an argument; who'd win in a fight between Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine?”

“Hey, what about me?” Cullen asked,

“Ah, Curly. The girls just keep you around to look good.” Varric answered, leaning his chair back onto two legs to grin at them from Bulls other side. Ellana patted Cullen's hand in mock sympathy when he grumbled,

“Hush, just look pretty.” she winked at him, stifling a laugh when he glared at her, “And in answer to your question; Cassandra. No question.”

“Ha!” Varric crowed, dropping his chair back onto all four legs and turning to The Iron Bull, “Pay up!”

“Even with that stupid hat and divine robes?”

“Are you kidding? That'll just make her worse.” Varric laughed, “Can you really see The Seeker being happy trussed up like that all day? If she's not wearing leathers and plate under that robe, then I'm a nugs uncle.”

“Bah! I didn't think of that.” Bull dropped a few coins into Varric's outstretched hand, “Fine, but don't get too attached to my coin dwarf, I'll be getting it back from you the next time we play Wicked Grace.”

Ellana and Cullen grabbed their drinks from the collection of various tankards and glasses in the centre of the table and squeezed their way to their seats. As soon as they were sat down all the chatter quietened as nine pairs of eyes turned to them expectantly. Ellana glanced at Cullen, he gave her a small nod, inviting her to begin.

She cleared her throat, gripping her tankard to force her restless hands to be still, “By now you're all aware of the four villages that have been attacked.”

“Four?” Josephine asked in surprise, her wine goblet paused halfway to her mouth.

“Four.” Ellana replied. There was a collective wince around the room from everyone except Rylen, she gave them a few moments to absorb the latest bad news before continuing, “You're all aware of these attacks. They happen seemingly at random and without provocation. Whoever it is, they attack quickly; they're very organised. No attack appears to last longer than a few minutes. Then they disappear again just as quickly. Nobody knows who this group is or where they came from.”

“If we don't know who they are or what they want, then how the frig are we supposed to stop them?” Sera asked.

“We don't know who they are,” Ellana said, carefully keeping her voice neutral. She glanced up at Cullen again, he was keeping his expression blank, but she could see his concern in the clench of his jaw, in the tightening around his eyes, “But we do know what they want.”

She pulled the folded note out of the folder. The exact duplicate of the one they'd found at the remains of the other three burned out villages — _houses turned to matchsticks, the air still tinged with the smell of —_ she cut the thought off before it could get any further.

Almost as though he could tell where her thoughts had gone, Cullen pressed his knee against hers under the table, a silent show of solidarity.

She cleared her throat again and unfolded the piece of paper. For a moment she stared at the words again, just six words, that's all it was. Just six words. Six words that were seared into her mind. With a now familiar sickly roll of her stomach, she placed the note on the table and pushed it into the centre for the others to read.

She held her breath as they leant forward;

 

**Inquisitor,**

 

**Open The Breach.**

 

**The Believers.**

 

“Holy shit.” Krem breathed, so softly that Cullen barely heard him. “Oh, pardon my language your Worshi — Ellana.”

“No, I think holy shit pretty much sums it up.” Ellana answered, lifting one side of her mouth.

“Pfft.” Sera blew through her lips. The small elf was perched on the back of her chair, her feet on the seat. Even then she was at least half a foot shorter than Bull sat next to her, although she did make the noise of three qunari so Cullen guessed it balanced out, “So they're killin' all these little people, an' burnin' all their little villages down for... what?” she sneered, her lips pulled back over her teeth with a look of disgust, “To get your friggin' attention?”

Ellana didn't so much as blink, but Cullen knew that must have stung. He ran his knuckles along the outside of her thigh under the table, he could feel her muscles softening slightly in acknowledgement of his touch. He was having to make a concentrated effort to keep his face as impassive as hers was.

“So it would seem.” Ellana replied quietly, meeting Sera's ire with calm composure,

“Well, it _seems_ like you should be doin' somethin' about that.”

Cullen bit down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to stop himself from shouting back. Did Sera honestly think for even one moment that they weren't already doing everything they could?

Ellana's knuckles turned white around her tankard, but when she spoke her voice was level and calm, “We _are_ trying to stop these people, I assure you.”

“You're not tryin' hard enough then!” Sera snapped. Cullen opened his mouth, a retort already on his tongue, when Ellana bumped her leg against his and gave her head the tiniest of shakes,

“What would you have me do, Sera?” she asked, “Do what they ask? Open The Breach and hope for the best?” she opened her arms wide and glanced around at them, “I'm open to suggestions here people.”

“How about we stop blaming 'Lea and try blaming the bastards that are _actually_ at fault?” Varric chimed in, throwing Sera a dirty look.

“I wasn't blamin' anyone.” Sera muttered sullenly, her gaze shifting to the surface of the table. She at least had the good grace to look a little ashamed of herself. Ellana's hands relaxed and Cullen allowed his jaw to unclench.

“It's alright Varric, Sera has a point. There must be something more we can do, but we really don't know anything about these people except that they want me to re-open The Breach.”

“For what purpose?” Josephine asked, “Are they attempting to bring Corypheus back?”

“Calling themselves “The Believers”?” Ellana huffed, “Penchant for the dramatic aside, I'd say that's a pretty fair assumption. It wouldn't work of course. Corypheus really is dead this time. You don't come back from across The Veil, no matter how many times you call yourself a god.” Ellana replied, a hint of satisfaction creeping into her voice.

“Yeah, but could you do it?” Bull asked.

“Do what? Open The Breach?” she scoffed, “No, the power Corypheus needed to open it in the first place was almost unprecedented. I don't have anywhere near that kind of power, anchor or no anchor. We needed dozens of mages pouring magic into the mark just to close it, opening it again would require even more.”

“What if they found another one of those whatcha call its?” Bull pressed,

“The orb? Solas was devastated when the last one was destroyed, I'd say it was unique. It was an elven artefact, and old, as in before-there-are-records old. You don't just find those things lying around. Besides, if they did have access to one they'd just create another anchor, they wouldn't need mine. Look, it doesn't matter whether I can or not, I'll throw myself into the void before I'd even attempt it.”

“But, Boss, _if_ you can-”

“I can't, and even if I could, I wouldn't.” Ellana said firmly, cutting Bull off mid-sentence, “Right now our focus needs to be on protecting the people. But short of stationing soldiers in every settlement in Ferelden and Orlais I don't see how we can do that.”

“If we can find out who these bastards are then we can take the fight to them.” Blackwall suggested gruffly from his spot leant against a wall.

“There's been some rumblings from the more vocal Venatori supporters in Tevinter, so Dorian's gone north to try to hunt down some leads for us.”

“If I wasn't a damn Tal'Vashoth I'd be able to get the Ben Hasrath to help us.” Bull grumbled.

Krem reached over Varric's head to nudge Bull's shoulder, “Aww, Chief. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when you say things like that.”

“Very funny, Krem. You know what I meant.”

“Good job I know you love us, Chief.” Krem said with a grin before turning to Ellana, “Can't we find some way to warn people?”

“Cassandra has been made aware of the situation.” Cullen said with a nod, “She's sent word to all the chantrys. That being said, The Templar numbers are almost non-existent right now. Corypheus decimated them. Those that weren't part of the Red Templars came here, and most aren't inclined to leave. They're not getting many new recruits either, people who would normally have joined their ranks have come to The Inquisition instead, even if word gets around they simply don't have the numbers to protect the people. Between the civil war and the blight taking their tolls on the Orlesian and Ferelden forces, The Inquisition has the largest standing army in Thedas.”

“What about The Grey Wardens?” Blackwall asked, “They owe us a few favours.”

Cullen shook his head, “We can't risk using The Wardens just in case this rumour we've heard about the Venatori turns out to be true. Who knows what secrets Corypheus may have told them. We can't risk The Wardens becoming compromised again.”

There was silence around the room as everyone tried to think of a way around their problem.

Ellana caught Cullen's eye and raised her brow in silent question, he nodded his assent, and she said, “There was one idea that we -” Cullen coughed, and she rolled her eyes before correcting herself, “one idea that _I_ had. They want the anchor but haven't come to Skyhold to try to take it, they've also only attacked small villages. The villages they've targeted are farming settlements, no chantry or guards. They haven't come up against any real kind of resistance. If that's intentional then it probably means they're low in number. So they want the anchor but are trying to avoid a full assault. I've not left Skyhold without a small army in weeks, if we could make it public knowledge that I'd be travelling unescorted then maybe we can lure them out.”

“She wants to set herself up as bait.” Cullen said bluntly. Everyone except Leliana protested at once. Cullen leant back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, giving Ellana a smug look.

“I know, I know.” Ellana called over their very loud objections, holding her hands up for quiet, “I get it. But if we can't think of any other way to find them then we don't have much of a choice.”

“Not happenin'.” Sera said, “That's just crazy, like, stupid crazy. Even for us.”

“I know you keep saying you won't do it Boss, but if you really _can_ open The Breach then maybe getting yourself caught isn't a great plan.”

“Dorian is due back soon, no?” Leliana asked, speaking for the first time. Cullen narrowed his eyes, well aware that their spymaster was in favour of Ellana's plan of making herself bait. “Why not wait to see what he has discovered before ruling anything out.”

 


	7. This is completely unfair.

The view from Cullen's and Ellana's secret training ground truly was spectacular, not a huge surprise considering it was situated on one of Skyhold's tallest towers, but it was a sight to behold even at night. Before lighting the torches Cullen took a few seconds to appreciate it; a blanket of stars glistened against the inky black sky, the small darts of light must have numbered in the billions, far more than he could count in a single life-time. Only one of Thedas' two moons was visible tonight; a bright half moon that cast its light to shine brilliantly over the mountains. Cullen glanced at the spot where he knew Haven lay nestled in the valley, invisible in the dark of course, but it was there.

It was quiet, and the view never failed to make him feel at peace.

Of course, this particular tower hadn't been chosen for the view. Cullen had chosen this tower because it wasn't overlooked by any of the others, making it the perfect spot for keeping their training ground a secret. Despite that, he was still surprised none of the others had figured it out; they had been coming here for quite some time, after all. Since just before The Winter Palace, in fact. Vivienne and Josephine had been training Ellana for her first foray into the gauntlet that was Orlesian politics, and it had been going less than perfectly. She'd needed an outlet for her pent-up energy, so he'd looked for a place for combat training. They could never use the same training ground as the soldiers without attracting the inevitable crowd, no resident of Skyhold could resist the lure of watching The Inquisitor fight The Commander. Within moments of stepping into the ring bets would start to be made, someone (Cullen suspected Dorian but had never been able to prove it) would loudly suggest nude mud-wrestling. It quickly dissolved into chaos. He didn't mind so much when it was a demonstration or a morale boosting exercise, but when they had to really train, work off some tension or just needed to beat the crap out of something, they came here.

Cullen finished lighting the torches that lined the battlements, there was only a slight breeze to whip the flames around, throwing strange shadows on the dummies — pilfered from other areas of Skyhold — that leant against one wall. Once it had been established that this roof was going to see a fair amount of use they'd set up a small marquee to protect their practice weapons from the elements. One by one more items had made their way up here; a small table with a chessboard and tankards was now in one corner, overstuffed cushions and blankets scattered around it, along with various other things they'd picked up on their travels.

 

Cullen was down on his haunches retrieving his blunted practice sword and shield from the pile of weapons when he heard the hatch open and close behind him,

“Which staff would you like tonight?” he asked without turning around. Ellana placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek,

“The yew with the notched grip please. I still can't get the balance right, it feels bottom heavy.”

He passed Ellana her staff over his shoulder before grabbing his own weapons.

They'd initially started training back in Haven: Neither of them comfortable with the idea of her being completely reliant on her magic to fight, this became even more true once they discovered Corypheus' use of the Red Templars. Time spent with the hunters and warriors of her clan meant that she already had a base knowledge, but there had been plenty of room for improvement. And improve she had. She may be able to play the part of the diplomat when the need presented itself, but that was her Inquisitor mask, deep down she was a soldier like him. She just used magic and a staff instead of iron. His warrior mage; more comfortable on a battlefield than a boardroom. Now he wasn't sure who was training whom.

When he turned to face her he noticed she'd made a stop to grab her long leather coat to throw over her leather vest and tunic. She was holding her staff high over her head as she stretched her shoulders and arms. She rolled her neck, sighing with satisfaction when it gave an audible crack, before letting her staff drop down to the small of her back, she braced it in place with the crooks of her elbows, ready to flick out at a moments notice.

Cullen watched it all with a raised brow, “ _Still_ with the posturing? Really?”

She raised a brow back at him and lifted half her mouth before giving her neck a final click, “It's a fine art that mustn't be lost to time.”

He sighed dramatically, making it sound as long-suffering as he could to make her laugh before she shook her head a little and focused.

She let him circle her slowly, poised on the balls of her feet and ready for his attack. He tried to catch her off guard, moving in at her side rather than the rear. She sidestepped out of the way easily, his lazy swing bounced off her staff.

They always started the same way; slow, easy attacks that built up in strength and speed as the fight progressed. As terrible as they might have been the few times they'd attempted actual dancing, _these_ steps they knew well,

“I'm concerned about Cole.” Ellana said. She took a few large strides backwards, keeping him at a distance with long swings of her staff that didn't even brush against his shield, just enough to keep him from following,

“As am I.” he admitted, blocking a jab with his shield, “I don't think he said a word all night.”

Cullen leant back when she went for a second jab, she lunged too far forward, shifting her centre of gravity. Cullen took full advantage, he knocked her staff higher and sent her off balance. She avoided the swing of his sword, but left herself undefended,

“Sloppy.” he tutted, “You know better than that.”

“Damn. Okay, try it again.”

Cullen nodded and took up position, the second time he leant back she swept her leg around and swung her staff across her body to land on the back of his shoulders,

“Better.” he nodded. She flipped her staff over one arm and Cullen suddenly found his face less than an inch from the end of her staff, he grinned at her from around the blunted end, “Much better.”

She returned his grin and backed off, pulling her staff around her body. Her eyes followed him carefully as they returned to circling, her gaze on his hips and shoulders as he'd taught her.

“Cole's been spending a lot of time in the valley with the survivors from the villages.” Ellana continued, “He's helping them, but I think it's taking a toll on him. He's more human now, but he is still, at least partly, a spirit of compassion. He can still feel their pain. It's not something I envy.”

It wasn't something Cullen envied either, but he knew that Ellana felt more of their pain than she was willing to admit, not as much as Cole, but still enough.

Her staff clattered against his shield as he blocked her attacks, be brought his sword low, but she hopped over his blade and spun away out of sword range,

“What do you propose we do?” he asked, he tried to close the gap between them, but her large swings kept him at a distance.

“I was thinking of taking him into The Hinterlands.” she said, “The people at The Cross Roads will be nervous about the village attacks, they're only just recovering from the war. Letting him help put them at ease will do him good.”

“Mmm,” Cullen mused, her logic was sound. This way they'd be killing two birds with one stone, they could help Cole and the people at The Cross Roads in one go. However, this was not the safest time for her to traipse to The Hinterlands.

He stepped up the speed of his attacks, swiping at her with his sword, she turned to the side and slipped under his arm, popping up behind him,

“I'll take Sera too, clear the air a bit.” He gave her a moment to think he wasn't going to pursue before using his much longer legs to close the gap in just a few large strides, pushing her high swings over his head with his sword,

“Speaking of Sera...” Cullen frowned, letting the sentence hang. A small burst of anger had flared at the mention of Sera, the way she'd spoken to Ellana in the tavern had angered him a lot more than it had Ellana,

“Don't let her get to you, vhenan.” she said, each word was punctuated with a sharp jab of her staff, “She doesn't mean it, you know that. She'll be full of apologies tomorrow.”

She peppered his shield with quick, light taps before swinging quickly to one side and catching him with a very nice one-two across his back,

“Apologies?” Cullen asked, he turned to face her and met her eyes over his shield, “Are we talking about the same Sera?”

“Well, maybe not apologies,” Ellana replied with a small laugh, “Probably cookies.”

She dropped low, letting an attack sail over her head and tried to dart under his shield, he dropped his guard in time, and she had to stop suddenly to stop herself from running straight into him. His sword was facing the wrong way to follow the attack up, but spinning it in his hand he pushed the pommel into her ribs before she could spring away again,

“You think so?” Cullen asked sceptically, “She seemed pretty serious tonight.”

“Trust me. We'll be having cookies for breakfast.” She avoided his back-handed swipe but only by pushing herself onto one leg, letting his sword miss her and flinging herself behind him,

“The guards stationed at The Cross Roads are due a rotation, you could travel with them.” Cullen suggested. He span quickly, shield up and ready to block another attack to his unprotected back. When he turned she was holding her staff over her head and did a particularly wide swing, spinning it in her palms with a flourish.

_Always with the showing off, how many times must I tell her?_ Cullen thought.

He ignored the obvious distraction and lunged forward with his sword. Faster than he could blink Ellana's staff had rolled down her back again, was in a firm grip, and the blunted end of her staff was against his throat, her body twisted to the side to avoid his blade,

“Are you doubting my combat skills, Commander?” she asked lightly, a rueful grin on her lips.

He rolled his eyes, _after that?! No, no I am not._

“No one knows how capable you are better than I.” Her rueful smile took on an edge of smugness, “Do not let that go to your head.” he warned, not letting her back off this time, he kept the pressure on, matching her step for step, “But until we've dealt with The Believers, I'm reserving my right to be concerned.”

Her grin turned into a slight frown as she concentrated on his attacks, “Would it put your mind at ease if I travelled with the soldiers?”

“It would.”

“Then I will.”

“You will?” his surprise at her agreement made him pause, letting her get a perfect shot in his chest,

“Yes, I won't have you lose sleep over my need to maintain my formidable Inquisitor image.”

“That is not an image you need to worry about losing.” he said with a groan, rubbing his newly injured chest with the back of his hand, “I'd go with you myself if I didn't need to prepare for the new refugees.”

He turned a swipe of his sword into an upward swing, she had to bend backwards to avoid it, the blunted end of her staff skittered along the roof until it stopped, countering her weight. A sharp nudge sent her off balance. Cullen let go of his shield just in time to catch her by the front of her leathers before she hit the ground. He turned her as he pulled her upright, his arm held her staff tight across her collar bone as he pulled her back against his chest. The dull tip of his sword stopped an inch from the underside of her chin,

“Yield?” he asked into her ear.

 

Damn, Ellana muttered to herself. There was no use pushing against his arms, he was an awful lot stronger than she was. She shifted her weight from foot-to-foot, testing his balance; there was no give.

_Dammit._

He chuckled a little behind her as though he could hear her weighing her options, his breath tickled the sensitive skin on her neck and behind her ears,

“Well?” he asked, drawing the word out, “Yield?”

He gave the staff another sharp tug against her collar, pulling her tighter against his chest.

She shouldn't play this card again, she knew she shouldn't. But...

_All's fair in love and war, and this is a little of both._

She let her head fall back, her lips grazing against his neck. Then pushed back with her hips, rolling them very slowly and deliberately against his.

The pressure on her collar slackened. In one fluid motion she slammed the heel of her palm against her staff and turned, twisting it out of his grip and slipping out of his arms to end up facing him across a few feet of empty roof,

“ _That_ was cheating.” he scowled, the flustered blush she so loved was working it's way up his neck,

“Tactics.” she smiled innocently, spinning her staff around her hands,

“Dirty tactics.”

“I can't believe you still fall for it.” she scoffed, “You _do_ realise this is why Bull won't let you come dragon hunting with us?”

“Probably for the best,” Cullen admitted, his sword hand came up to rub the back of his neck, “I'm not sure my heart could handle it. Beautiful and deadly is a potent combination.”

“Mmm, tell me about it.” Ellana purred, she could tease him about it all she liked, she was well aware the Cullen wasn't the only one that found their training sessions a little... distracting, “Though I don't think it's your heart that Bull was worried about you controlling.” she finished with a laugh.

“Alright, that's it.” Cullen reached up to the clasp around his neck, removing his heavy cloak and tossing it into the corner with the table before scooping up his dropped sheild, “You are going down, Lavellan.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, one eyebrow cocked, “Only if you ask me nicely.”

She saw his eyes widen in surprise when she attacked first, large over-hand swings of her staff. Had her opponent been anyone but Cullen, they'd be minus one head.

 

Cullen counted the heartbeats between her attacks, carefully timing the moment he let one swing hit his shield, pushing back hard against her staff. She let the momentum of his shield bash spin her staff in a wide arc, bracing it on the back of her neck as it changed direction, forcing him to use his sword to block it as it came around the other way. Shield held wide in one hand and sword held in the other, his chest was completely exposed. She stopped her staff with the heel of one hand, slammed the blunted end against the stone flags of the roof, dropped low onto the haunches of one leg, the other stretched out to the side. Her staff halted an inch from the centre of his chest,

“Sloppy.” she tutted up at him. The smile she turned in his direction was the dangerous, feral one; her combat smile. The one that never failed to set his heart pounding and his thoughts in an entirely different direction to where they should be, “You know better than that.”

“Nice.” he said, with an appreciative nod, “But not nice enough.”

He let go of his shield, looping his now free arm around her staff and giving it a sharp tug. He expected her to fight him for it, she didn't. She let go the instant he pulled, causing him to stumble back a step. He'd barely caught his balance when Ellana's extended leg kicked his fallen shield at him, he had to jump over it to avoid it hitting him in the shins. It skidded to a halt somewhere behind him, he didn't turn to see where. Ellana, now unarmed, had used his pause to get to her feet and take several hurried steps backwards. Cullen wrapped his arm more firmly around the staff (she was right, he noted, it _was_ bottom heavy),

“Pride goeth before a fall, Ellana.”

“So I've heard.”

She didn't wait for him to advance, she sprinted straight toward him. Just when he thought she planned to slam right into him she dropped, rolling completely under his arm with a whip-crack of snapping leather, loose strands of hair streamed out behind her. He turned just in time to see her turn the roll into a slide, slipping along the surface of the roof to snatch up his shield. Cullen actually felt his jaw drop open for a second,

_Okay, that was..._

_Sexy. That's exactly what that was._

“This is completely unfair.” he muttered aloud.

He focused his attacks on the shield with his sword as she pushed her way back to her feet. She tried to dodge around him, but he caught her on the back of the legs with the staff, flicking the lower part of her legs out from under her. With the shield in her hands, there was nothing to stop her from falling and landing flat on her back.

Cullen approached, sword raised and ready to claim his victory. Prematurely, he discovered. She smiled up at him from the ground, once he was standing directly above her she tossed the shield into the air, reflex alone made him reach out to catch it, momentarily forgetting he had a weapon in each hand. The second his eyes were off her she rolled to her side, he felt pressure on the back of his leg as she pushed her foot into the joint, sending him forward to his knees. She twisted the staff from his grip and held it across his throat,

“Yield?” She panted onto the side of his neck.

Cullen swung his arm around the back of her legs and pulled her down into his lap. She came, willingly, eagerly, to straddle his thighs. Her staff clattered to the ground behind him as her hands found the back of his neck, her fingertips sinking into his hair,

“I'm taking that as a yes.” she said, laughing a breathy little chuckle.

“Hmm.” he hummed into her ear with a smile.

He ghosted his mouth over her jaw, the lightest of touches, the stubble on his cheeks barely brushing against her soft skin. She leant in closer, her fingertips sinking into his hair, but Cullen pulled back, keeping his touches slight. His hands slipped past her long coat, resisting the urge to grasp her hips, instead he barely grazed her as his thumbs swept across her waist in long, slow circles, inching tantalisingly higher; across her ribs to just beneath her curves. He carefully traced the line just beneath each breast with the pad of his thumbs, and he felt her breath hitch. She tried to arch into his touch, and he smiled against her jaw before sliding his hands to her back and trailed gentle fingertips down her spine, tracing the worn pattern in her soft leather vest. When he reached the hem he toyed with the lacing, pulling it gently between his fingers, letting her think he was about to loosen it to slip his hands underneath and onto her skin, before leaving the lacing intact and continuing his exploration of her back.

When he moved his mouth to her neck, gracing her with a light dusting of kisses to her throat he could feel her pulse pounding under her skin, her hand fisted in his hair. Cullen clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his touches light and brief; he was teasing himself as much as her. But it was worth it when he reached the sensitive spot behind her ear and her breath stuttered, a low moan escaping her throat. Cullen brushed his lips across hers on his way to rest his forehead on hers, her eyes, huge and dark, met his,

“Yield?” He asked, his own voice a little rough,

“Gods yes.”

For a while Cullen lost himself in the feel and taste of her; in the softness of her skin and her mouth, hot and hungry, on his. Everything else fell away, was forgotten in favour of her mana sizzling across his skin setting his every nerve ending aflame with need, the sight of her head thrown back against the cushions, eyes squeezed closed and her lower lip caught between her teeth to stifle her moans. It was just them, and _this,_ and so very necessary. They had this, they had each other, and for the rest of his life, Cullen didn't think he'd ever need anything else.

 

 

The overstuffed cushions certainly didn't make for the most comfortable makeshift bed, but tucked under his cloak with Ellana half sprawled over his chest and the canopy of stars over his head, Cullen was more than happy to put up with it.

He was on the verge of falling asleep when he felt her muscles slowly start to tense up,

“Stop that.” Cullen muttered sleepily into her hair,

“Stop what?”

“You're thinking, I can tell. Stop it.” He pulled his cloak more thoroughly around them, being careful to shield her from the cold night air,

“Maybe a little.” she said sheepishly. She leant up from where she lay to fold her hands on his chest and rest her chin on top, “I was just thinking that once this situation with The Believers is over, I'd like to go visit my clan. They roam the southern coast of the Free Marches at this time of year, they wouldn't be too hard to find.”

“Oh.” Cullen tried to quickly calculate the length of the trip in his mind; just crossing the Narrow Sea was quite a voyage, even with clear weather. A visit to her clan was long past due, still he couldn't help but think how much he'd miss her, “How long do you think you'd be gone?”

“Actually,” she paused, her fingers started to tap out a rhythm against his chest and her gaze skipped nervously away from him. He caught her slim fingers in his own, bringing them to his lips and waited for her to look back at him again, “Actually, I was kind of hoping you might want to come with me?”

“You — you want me to come meet your clan?”

“Well, erm, yeah. But, you know, only if you want to.” A slow blush rose up her neck, “I know it's a big deal, and I'm not trying to push. I — you know what, forget I said anything.” Her chuckle was self-deprecating and Cullen realised she'd taken his surprise for hesitation,

“It's not that I don't want to.” he said in a rush, “But how do you think they'd react to the fact that I'm a, er -”

“Human?” she shrugged, “Probably that I was always a bit odd, it could have been worse, at least I didn't bring home the qunari.”

“Oh, very flattering. Thanks, really.” he chuckled, “Aside from you and the very occasional mage brought to the Circle, I haven't met many Dalish elves, though I know how most Dalish view humans, and how badly my kind have treated yours.”

“There's a reason for grudges on both sides, true. I know most Dalish clans are steeped in tradition, but ours isn't one of them. There are those of my kind that believe the Dalish can only claim honour through something lost to us. They think the future holds no hope for us unless we restore what once was in ancient times, the funny thing is, even the Dalish can't agree on what that really was. Some talk of it endlessly, they tell stories of past glories but don't see that the world is moving on, and unless we move with it then we'll be left behind in obscurity, dwelling on past grudges and long-forgotten grievances. The Dalish have a future, but they're not going to find it hiding in the woods and lamenting the past. The future of my kind is with yours.”

“Wonderful. I'm a Dalish outreach programme.” he said dryly, Ellana pulled a face and swatted his shoulder,

“You're an ass, that's what you are. The shape of your ears doesn't define a person, your actions do that, no matter your race. I don't care that you're human, and neither will my clan. They'll tease me, then you'll blush and stammer a little and do that whole cute thing you do that's so adorable.”

He rolled his eyes, “We are not having this argument again. I command an army, I am _not_ cute.”

“You can command an army and be cute at the same time, I checked the rules. But debates on your cuteness aside, they might be a little surprised at first, but they'll see that I'm happy, that _you_ make me happy, and that's the important thing. They'll love you.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised and more than a little pleased by her declaration of him making her happy,

“Mmm, really.” she smiled softly before kissing him lightly, “If you haven't met many Dalish, does that mean you've never seen a Dalish camp? It's nothing like a human campsite, you'd be surprised at what we can carry in our aravels. We can stay in the same site for months at a time. Our homes are portable, but they're certainly a giant step-up from your field tents, honestly, all the other races camp like savages compared to the Dalish. We have common areas too, of course; the fire where we share stories, communal frolicking areas -”

“Sorry? Communal _what_?” Cullen interrupted, sure he'd misheard,

“Oh yes,” she nodded, “Once a month we all strip naked and frolic at night to welcome in the new moon.”

“You're having me on,” he scoffed, Ellana's raised brow gave him pause, “You are, aren't you?”

She tried to keep her straight face, but whatever horrified expression he must have been making broke it almost immediately, and she laughed, “Of course I am.”

“Well forget it then,” he dead-panned, “Without naked frolicking, there's really no point.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, “I can arrange private naked frolicking if it's that important to you.”

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, lowering her forehead onto his, “Alright, deal.”

“So you'll come?” genuine happiness radiated from her smile and danced in her eyes,

_Like I was ever going to give a different answer,_ he thought as he smiled back,

“Of course.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I spent a ridiculous amount of time on this chapter, changing things around and switching the tone back and forth. I'm still not totally happy with it, but I thought I'd done as well as I could. Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments.  
> Hope you're enjoying things so far, the story really starts to pick up in the next few chapters.  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Give me a little credit.

On the second evening after Ellana's departure to The Hinterlands, Rylen knocked on the door of Cullen's office. He was still at his desk and surrounded by his lieutenants, they were waiting as Cullen quickly scribbled his signature onto his last couple of orders before he closed his office for the evening. It was a few hours past dusk, candles and lamps would already be burning around Skyhold, and he was eager to make his rounds of the guards on the walls before heading into the main building to catch up on any news coming from The Hinterlands.

“Yes, Rylen?” he asked distractedly, barely glancing up from his paperwork,

“I was hoping for a moment of your time, Commander.”

“Go ahead, what is it?” Cullen nodded, head still bent over his papers,

“It's a personal matter, Sir.” Now Cullen did look up, Rylen was stood at polite attention on the other side of his desk, his chin held high and staring at a spot somewhere over Cullen's head. The lieutenants were giving Rylen sidelong glances Cullen noticed with a groan; the barracks would be dissecting that sentence all night. He cleared his throat sharply and their heads snapped back to face forward again.

“Of course. One moment.” he said, and fired off his signature on the last few forms, only giving them a cursory glance before dismissing the other men. He closed the door behind them before sitting back behind his desk, waving Rylen into the chair opposite him.

Rylen shifted in his seat, the hard wood creaked a little under his weight, sounding about as uncomfortable as Rylen looked. His gaze roamed across the desk, the shelves, anywhere but at Cullen. It wasn't often that someone came to Cullen with a personal problem, they sought out Ellana or Josephine for that sort of thing, and he wasn't sure how to begin.

He cleared his throat again, not entirely comfortable with this himself, “Alright Rylen, what seems to be the problem?”

“This is not an easy topic of conversation, Commander.” Rylen said, he shifted again, moving toward the edge of his seat as though he was ready to bolt from Cullen's office at the first opportunity. It wasn't like him to be quite so formal, not when they weren't in front of the other men. They'd known each other for some time now; Cullen had brought him into The Inquisition right at the beginning, and they'd become friends. If Rylen was struggling with the conversation to this extent then it must be something serious. Making a split-second decision Cullen rose from his chair, he pulled his cloak from his shoulders and hung it on its hook on the door, grabbing a bottle of Chasind Sack Mead and a pair of glasses from the shelf on his way back to his seat. He poured the amber liquid into the glasses and pushed one across the desk to Rylen.

“I'm off duty for the night, Rylen. This is an informal discussion, as long as anything you say doesn't affect The Inquisition then, as far as I'm concerned, we're just sharing a drink.” Rylen took the mead gratefully, removing his helm and gloves, “So, what's this personal matter?”

“It's not exactly _my_ personal matter, Cullen.” Rylen met his eyes for the first time. By the looks of the raised eyebrow Cullen was supposed to have gleaned some information from this, but so far he was drawing a blank. Was this just barracks gossip?

“Then whose personal matter is it?”

“Well, erm, as a matter of fact, it's yours.”

“Mine?” Cullen asked, he was completely lost now. “What personal matter of mine do you feel the need to discuss? Is this something to do with Ellana? Because -”

“No, no; don't be daft man, this has nothing to do with The Inquisitor.” Rylen interrupted, waving a hand and taking a mouthful of mead,

“Alright, why don't you tell me _exactly_ what the problem is because I have no idea what's going on.” a faint tinge of amused perplexity had crept into Cullen's voice.

Rylen sighed before wrapping both hands around his glass, “I've been asking around the barracks, talking to the other ex-Templars, all very hush-hush of course, and something keeps cropping up. We've all had some change in our abilities since we quit the blue stuff; some of them say their powers are a bit weaker, some say there's not much change at all. I've talked to all of them, and yeah they all say something is different, but not one has lost their abilities altogether. Except for...”

_Ah._

Cullen's hand froze halfway to his mouth before he placed the glass on the desk untouched.

_No one? No one has reported a complete loss of abilities. Except for -_

“Except for me?”

“Except for you.” Rylen confirmed with a nod, toasting Cullen with his drink before knocking his glass back and finishing it in one large gulp.

Cullen's mind went completely blank, a faint buzzing began ringing in his ears. _How?_ He wondered, once his brain had re-engaged, _How have I not noticed this??_

“You're sure?” he blurted out, his eyes flying up from his desk to meet Rylen's.

“I'm sure. The Templar abilities are not reliant on lyrium to work, you said so yourself. Maybe the lyrium enhanced them, I don't know, maybe it even switches them on. But the sustained lyrium use The Chantry had us doing? That crap was more about controlling _us_ than the mages.” Rylen said, helping himself to another drink.

“So then why am I...” Cullen's voice trailed off. Rylen nudged his glass toward him, Cullen downed it in one and held the glass out for a refill, draining that one too.

“You want my two coppers?” Rylen asked, raising an eyebrow. Cullen nodded, he didn't know what he'd do with the answer, but not knowing seemed worse, “It's got sod all to do with the lyrium. It's Kirkwall.” Cullen scoffed, spluttering a little of his drink onto the desk, he opened his mouth, a denial already on the tip of his tongue, when Rylen held up a hand to stop him, “You asked for my two coppers, I'm giving 'em. Kirkwall was a damn mess, even by the time I arrived. Collapsed buildings, destroyed livelihoods, and more civilian bodies than I'd ever -”

“Yes, thank you. I remember Kirkwall accurately.” Cullen cut him off.

_Remember_ Kirkwall? Makers breath, he could practically still smell it. Not a day went by that he didn't think about it.

“My point is; after that shit-show you didn't want to be a Templar any more. Who bloody would? So you've made the decision not to be, subconsciously of course, but still a decision.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Cullen interrupted, raising his hand, “You're saying my Templar abilities have vanished simply because I didn't want them any longer?” he asked aghast,

“I wouldn't say “simply”, exactly.” Rylen shrugged, “And they've not vanished. Blocked, maybe, but they're still there. There's just a mental block that's stopping you from using them. I've seen soldiers do something similar after seeing too much battle, poor bastards just can't fight any more.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Could this really be right? His Templar abilities had vanished because of _trauma_? He had never told Rylen about Kinlock Hold, Ellana was still the only person he'd ever confided in, but between Kinlock and Kirkwall he supposed it was possible...

“If it is like you say,” he said slowly, opening his eyes, “That all of this is because of Kirkwall and not the lyrium, then why wouldn't I have known about it? Why wouldn't I have realised?”

“Maybe it's part of the block.” Rylen said with another shrug, “Shit Cullen, I'm no expert. Maybe you just weren't ready to know yet.”

“So if it is true, and I'm not saying it is, but _if_ it is true then can it be unblocked again?”

“I don't see why not. Now you're aware of it maybe it'll be easier. I'll help if you want?”

“Help how?”

“With training. We could meet at night after you're done here. Try it, and see how it goes.”

“I'll think about it.”

“You do that. But don't think about it too long,” Rylen added, getting to his feet and clinking his glass against the bottle, Cullen was surprised to see it was now almost half empty, “I don't think there's enough mead in Skyhold.” Cullen chuckled as Rylen made his way toward the door,

“Rylen? Let's just keep this between us for now.”

“Obviously. Andraste's ass, Rutherford. Give me a little credit.” he said with a grin,

Cullen was chuckling again when Rylen closed the door behind him.

 

Later that night Cullen was lying awake in bed, staring at the canopy over the, quite frankly, ridiculously luxurious bed he normally shared with Ellana. The empty space next to him had never felt quite so large. A great, gaping chasm had taken the place that was normally filled by the half-crazy, but oh so full of life, woman that he loved. He desperately wanted to talk to her about this, but it wasn't the kind of thing he could put in a letter. Where would he even begin? No, he'd have to wait for her return. While a large part of him baulked at the idea of resuming his Templar training the more practical side of him nagged. If The Believers were part of The Venitori, as they suspected, then regaining the use of his Templar abilities would be an incredible asset. Plus, in his seemingly never-ending quest to put the events of Kinlock and Kirkwall behind him, then surely regaining his abilities would be a demonstration of how far he'd come. But on the other hand, did the old adage of 'let sleeping mabaris lie' not hold weight on its own?

Cullen rolled onto his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable position with a growl. A man could go insane thinking about this.

By the next morning, the practical side of him had won out. Before he could change his mind he sent a message to Rylen with a time and place for them to train that evening.

 

* * *

 

Ellana closed her eyes and savoured the feeling of the sun on her face, she loved The Hinterlands. It never failed to remind her of travelling through the forests with her clan. All around Skyhold and Haven it was cold and snow still lay on the ground, but here everything was lush and green. Dappled sunlight filtered through the foliage over their heads, with the light breeze it was downright glorious, Ellana could practically feel it blowing the cobwebs out of her brain. She may feel out of her depth when it came to spy networks and nobles, but this? Being out in the field, helping the people they came across? _This_ she could do.

Varric, Sera and Cole rode alongside her in quiet conversation, the soldiers Cullen had asked (insisted upon, if she was being honest) her to take with her were a little ways behind them on the path. Some of them would be remaining at The Cross Roads to protect the people. They were fairly unobtrusive, and she could almost forget they were there at all.

Sera was being overly polite to all of them, probably, Ellana thought, as her way of continuing to apologise for her attitude in The Den when she and Cullen had told them about the fourth village attack. Cullen had been furious by her attitude. She'd blamed Ellana and The Inquisition for not doing more to help the people. Sera's reaction hadn't been surprising, her passion was one of the things that Ellana liked about her the most. Sera was fiery as hell, sometimes a little just went off in the wrong direction. She hadn't meant a word of it; she was just angry, as they all were. Ellana was hoping this little trip would break the last bit of tension she felt between them. Sera was even being nicer to Cole than she usually was. Granted, her attitude toward Cole had been gradually improving as Cole became more human, but still, the effort was appreciated. Ellana glanced in his direction; Cole had been very quiet as of late. He'd been spending a lot of time in the valley with the refugees from the villages that had been destroyed by The Believers. That was an awful lot of hurt for him to feel. She was hoping The Cross Roads would have some smaller hurts they could help with. The people there always welcomed them warmly, remembering the way The Inquisition had helped them during the war between the mages and Templars. Ellana was hoping he'd be able to feel their gratitude as well as their pain. It didn't do him any good to be so surrounded by people he couldn't help.

“'Lea, you need to talk to Buttercup.” Varric said, bringing his mount up alongside hers. “This whole being nice thing is driving me crazy.”

“I _have_ spoken to her, Varric. I must have told her a dozen times that she doesn't need to worry about what happened in the tavern, she won't listen.”

“Well, you need to do something. You're the boss, just order her to let it go if you need to. She's going to explode if she doesn't let out whatevers eating at her.”

Without waiting for a response Varric called Cole over to him and started to regale him with some tale about Kirkwall. Ellana caught the words “Viscount's son being kidnapped” before they'd moved out of earshot. Sera was keeping her eyes firmly glued to the back of her mounts head. With a sigh Ellana slowed a little until she was next to her,

“So Sera, do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sera asked, still not meeting her eyes.

“Whatever it is that's got you being all nice and polite. You sent cookies, all is forgiven.” she tried a smile but Sera didn't return it, “Come on Sera, I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

“That's just it, innit? You can't help. You can't fix it. Commander Fancy-pants himself said so. The bleedin' Wardens are no use cuz Cor-if-y-tits might have taught The friggin' Believers how to control 'em. There's not even any Templars left.”

“I'm sorry Sera, I -”

“No, I shouldn't 'av had a go at you, it's not your fault, not really. But we're on our own now, yeah? We got all these people to help for the war, but they're gone now, it's just us. All I've got is arrows. If scary spy lady can't find 'em, then the Jennys won't be able to. The Jennys fight knobish nobles, not freakin' crazies that kill people an' burn their homes down. It's just rubbish.”

“Yes, we're on our own but The Inquisition is bigger and better than it was. We'll find them and when we do you can turn them into hedgehogs with as many arrows as you like. Dorian will return from Tevinter in a few days, and we'll know more then, if The Believers really are the last of The Venitori then someone in Tevinter will know. Maybe we'll even get a location on where they're hiding.”

“He better get back soon then, yeah. I just knew they was gonna be from Tevinter, bag of cats that place. Too many mages bein' all mage-y.”

“Already back to blaming us mages for everything, huh? You must be feeling better.” Ellana said with a grin, Sera finally met her eyes and smiled back,

“You're not like them other lot, neither's Dorian. You're alright. It's them magisters I don't trust. An' this plan of yours?”

“Yes, yes. You all made yourselves perfectly clear at the tavern. You sided with Commander Fancy-pants. Cost me twenty silvers too, traitors the lot of you.” Sera went off into a fit of giggles,

“That's your own fault for bettin' we'd let you walk into a trap then, innit?”

“Yes, yes very funny.”

 

With Sera's mood improved the volume of their little band increased greatly for the rest of their trip to The Cross Roads. Cole was still looking sullen but if that was still the case when they were on their return trip then she'd talk to him.

As she'd predicted the people who called The Cross Roads home were pleased to see them, greeting them by name and waving them over to chat. They dropped off some herbs for the healer, and the townsfolk seemed relieved that they would be leaving some more soldiers with them for protection. Everything seemed to be going well until they stepped out of one of the shops to find a deathly silence had dropped over the village square.

A large group of people Ellana didn't recognise were huddled together and waiting for them. She felt Sera reach for her quiver at her side, Ellana put her hand on her arm to stop her before slowly walking down the steps to meet the group head on. They looked tired, mud caked them almost to the knee. The few meagre belongings they carried with them were strapped to their backs or hanging from their belts.

Ellana took the man at the front of the group to be their leader. He had the slightly hollow cheeked look of someone that had lost weight too quickly. Even so, he towered over her, so she had to strain her neck to look him in the eyes. She kept her palms open, so they could see she wasn't carrying a weapon and walked slowly until she was close enough to talk to them without having to raise her voice.

“Greetings, I'm -”

“We know who you are.” the stranger didn't bother to keep his voice down, despite how close they were, his booming voice carried across the square.

“Do I know you?”

“You should.” the man sneered down at her, “You should have to look each of us in the eye and know us. We, who have lost everything, while you do nothing.” Ellana reeled back as though struck,

“I'm sorry, I -”

“Oh you're sorry? You hear that everyone? The Herald is sorry. Sorry doesn't bring back my village,” his face contorted in anger, “My brother is dead because of you!”

The silence in the square was deafening, nobody moved, it seemed like nobody even breathed as the man's words echoed around them,

“'Lea?” Varric hissed, tugging on the sleeve of her leathers, “Let's just go.”

“Oh yes, we must protect The Heralds reputation.” the man laughed bitterly, he looked around as though only just realising he was surrounded by strangers, listening to his every word. “Tell me, “Herald,” all these people, how would they feel if they knew the truth?” he pulled a piece of paper from his belt and waved it in her face. There was a sickening lurch in her stomach as she recognised it, it was one of the notes from the village attacks. She could have groaned at her own stupidity, of course there would be more notes than the ones they'd found. The Believers wouldn't leave only one copy of each, they wanted to be sure The Inquisition knew who their attackers were, leaving more than one copy made perfect sense. Dammit. “What would they think if they knew you had the power to stop what was going on, but didn't want to bother? Hand yourself over to The Believers, stop this, or all these people find out just how cowardly you really are.” The man pulled his head back and spat at the spot between Ellana's feet. The soldiers she'd brought with her approached from the other side of the village, she waved them back. Hushed whispers flew around the square, people were straining to see what was written on the paper.

Ellana had heard enough, drawing herself up to her full, admittedly inconsiderable, height she lifted her chin defiantly,

“I appreciate that you're grieving, I appreciate that you're scared, but you know nothing of me, and you know even less of The Inquisition.” On the inside, a myriad of jumbled thoughts and emotions threatened to drown her. On the outside she was cold steel. Cullen would have been able to name each flare of emotion that flashed in her eyes, but Cullen wasn't here. All these people saw was what she wanted them to see; The Inquisitor, a ball of barely controlled, righteous fury. The air around her almost crackled with mana as she walked forward. She slowly drew a dagger from her belt, the mark in her other palm sparked as she closed the hand into a tight fist. The group of unarmed men behind their leader jumped out of the way as she advanced, their leader backed up until he hit a fence. She snatched the letter from his hand, drawing her arm that held the dagger back in an arc over her head before slamming the dagger through the note and into the fence post behind him, “If you wish to blackmail me, you're going to have to try harder than that.”

She turned to the people grouped behind her, looks that ranged from wary to downright terrified greeted her,

“The Inquisition doesn't stand for a greater message. The Inquisition always has, and always will, stand for all of us. We were there for you when your country was ravaged by war. We were there for you when demons roamed your lands. And we're here for you now. I cannot do what The Believers want, but what I _can_ do is swear that we are, and will continue to do, everything within our power to stop them. What I _can_ do, is offer you shelter, food, protection. Any of you that wish to accept this offer are welcome at Haven and in Skyhold.” She saw looks of doubt cross their faces, that was all she needed. Just doubt. “Please,” she said, dropping her voice, “Think about it.”

Most looked away when she caught their eye, but a few nodded. They may not take her up on her offer, but she'd gotten through to them; they would think about it.

She turned back to glance at the man behind her, still leaning against the fence post, he still looked angry, there wasn't quite as much doubt on his face as the others, but he looked thoughtful at least.

“That offer extends to all of you.” she said softly, letting a little of herself peek through the mask.

She returned the nods of the locals, and they parted to let her and the others pass.

The silence followed them out of the village and back into the woods. Ellana wasn't quite sure what to say to her friends as they headed to where they'd left their mounts. The silence was thick and heavy. The sounds of the small stones and twigs under their boots was almost unbearably loud. Just when Ellana didn't think she'd be able to stand it for another second Sera burst out,

“Alright, I'm sorry, I know that was meant to be all Inquisitorial an' inspirational an' shit but that thing with the dagger was friggin' bad-ass!”

The relief made Ellana laugh harder than she probably would have done normally. The breath she'd been holding left her in a rush and her fists finally unclenched.

 


	9. The little bottle still sings.

Cullen spent the entire day before his training session with Rylen watching the time tick down. He was so distracted by the movement of the sun across the sky that he could barely concentrate on his work. He'd gone back and forth on whether this was a good idea several times over the course of those many hours, three times going so far as to summon a messenger to tell Rylen he'd changed his mind. The messengers probably thought he was losing his mind; all three had been sent away, sans message, the moment they'd arrived at his office.

The chances are good that nothing will even come of this, he told himself, as he had done repeatedly since Rylen had made the suggestion of resuming his Templar training. Granted, he hadn't tried to use his Templar abilities in a long time, certainly not since joining The Inquisition, but when he'd tried before nothing had happened. Cullen was almost sure the same would be true now. But... well, the fact that there even was a 'but' was reason enough to try.

With a slight twinge of guilt, and a much larger twinge of regret, Cullen led Rylen up the narrow staircase to the private rooftop training area he shared with Ellana. It was a strange sort of betrayal, but areas of privacy were few and far between in Skyhold. The last thing he wanted was to be seen by one of the others or, even worse, the soldiers. He didn't want the loss of his Templar abilities to be the next piece of barracks gossip; his relationship with the Inquisitor had given him a taste of how it felt to be the subject of 'talk', he did not want to make it worse. Still, he'd have chosen somewhere else had there been another option,

“If you tell anyone about this place, I can't be held responsible for the consequences.” Cullen said as they reached the top of the rickety staircase,

“Are you... threatening me, Commander?” Rylen asked, Cullen could hear the smile in his voice,

“Me? No, of course not. Ellana on the other hand...”

“Alright, alright, my lips are sealed. No need to sic The Inquisitor on me.”

Cullen laughed as he moved the boxes that hid the hatch to the roof. The laughter helped break the tension a little. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit nervous. If he was completely honest with himself, he wasn't actually sure what he wanted the outcome of this little experiment to be. He'd cut his ties with the Chantry a long time ago, and he had no intention of going back, he was done being used by them.

_My hands tremble, shakes that spread up my arms to my shoulders and neck. The muscles bunched and tight. My fingers are so cold, nothing drives the cold out. And the headaches, Maker, the headaches. If the needles in my brain stopped for just five minutes then I'd be able to sleep. Everyone in Haven knows, they must, I stalk the village at all hours of the night, I've seen the way they look at me, they — no, it's the paranoia, Cassandra warned me about this. It's the lyrium. The lyrium sings, it taunts. I could be more; faster, stronger, braver. The lyrium, the lyrium, the blighted, Maker-forsaken lyrium._

_Don't you realise that The Inquisition doesn't want you for what the lyrium gave you, but for what you are without it?_ Ellana's voice echoed around his memory; the words she'd said to him when he'd been at his lowest. _You are so much stronger than the lyrium, Cullen. I swear to you, you are more than this._

He would not fall into that pit again.

This wasn't about the Chantry, or the lyrium. It was about reclaiming himself. He clenched his jaw tightly and moved the last box.

 

The night was cool but dry as they exited out onto the roof. Cullen busied himself lighting torches as Rylen dug into a bag he'd brought with him. He pulled out a glass ball, a small flame burned cheerfully at its centre.

“I borrowed this from the mage tower,” he explained, “It's benign magic, just something the enchanters give the apprentices to practice with. The idea is to light the fire through the glass, I figured we'd use it to try spell purging. I didn't particularly fancy dragging one of the mages up here to throw spells at you.”

“Probably wise.” Cullen replied with a crooked grin. The nerves were really kicking in now.

 _This is ridiculous,_ he told himself firmly, _you've done this a thousand times. Pull yourself together!_

Rylen sat the ball onto a small table and stood back.

“Okay,” he said, “Give it a shot.”

Cullen concentrated, drawing on the will that had gone neglected for so long, focusing in on the small ball of light. His hands balled into fists at his side, his jaw clenched. A faint humming reverberated around his mind, a warming sensation started behind his eyes then... nothing. Nothing happened. The flame sat burning just as merrily as it had when Rylen had first removed it from his bag. It didn't even wobble.

“Well, you didn't expect anything to happen on the first go, did you? Try again.”

 

Three attempts later and there was no change. The optimism in Rylen's voice was becoming strained and Cullen had a monster of a headache starting to brew behind his eyes. He growled in frustration as once again he let his mind relax while the infuriating ball of fire sat on its table, mocking him. He threw it a filthy look before turning back to Rylen,

“It isn't working. There's nothing there. Whatever abilities I once had, are gone.”

“Hold your horses.” Rylen said, looking thoughtful, “They're there, I'm sure of it. You're trying to break through this mental block of yours, right? Maybe it doesn't work like that. Maybe you need to go around? Try thinking of it a different way.”

“Oh, that's very helpful. Thanks.” Cullen said sarcastically,

“Very funny. Look, you see magic differently now, yeah? Compared to how you saw it in Kirkwall?” That was true. After Kinlock Hold and Kirkwall, Cullen had detested magic. After quitting lyrium, joining The Inquisition then meeting Ellana, his feelings towards magic had changed. Maybe he would never be completely comfortable around all magic, but Ellana's magic he trusted implicitly. Her magic was beautiful. “So maybe you need to see your Templar abilities in a similar way? Change how you think about it.”

 _And how in The Makers name am I supposed to do that?_ He thought.

“Alright, I'll try.”

He closed his eyes, desperately trying to draw on the pool of focused will that he'd spent half his life honing. It was there somewhere, he just needed to find it. The humming in his ears was louder this time, the now familiar warming sensation arrived faster. It was more than warming now; burning. Sunspots flared behind his closed eyelids. The humming was getting louder, annoying and distracting him. It built louder, blocking out the sound of Rylen talking to him and the faint breeze that whistled through the gables. The burning was getting so very hot, the heat of rage demons that scorched his skin. The pitch of the humming became higher: screams, he realised, not humming. There had been so many screams, his brothers screaming as they were tortured by demons and abominations, the screaming of the people of Kirkwall as their city fell. Demons and abominations were everywhere. He was surrounded. Smoke filled his eyes, making tears run down his cheeks, clearing paths in the soot on his skin. The hairs on his arms curled and started to blacken from the fires. People were screaming, needing his help, and he couldn't -

He landed hard on his back on the roof of Skyhold. Skyhold, he reminded himself. It was the stars over the Frostback mountains that he could see glittering down at him over Rylen's shoulder. Not the tower. Not Kirkwall. Skyhold.

“Makers balls! Cullen! Are you alright?” Rylen's concerned expression looked down at him. Cullen's head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, he felt feverish and a cold sweat had broken out on his skin. But he was alright. He nodded and Rylen held a hand out to help him up. “I'm sorry Cullen, this was a bad idea.”

“No, no, you were right. I felt something that time.”

“Aye, you almost had a _seizure_ that time.”

“One more try.”

“I am not dragging your heavy ass down off this roof if you pass out on me, Rutherford.” Rylen warned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Duly noted.” Cullen said dryly, taking up position before the glass orb. Rylen looked like he was going against his better judgement, and Cullen could have sworn he heard him mutter that The Inquisitor was going to kill him, but he stepped back out of the way.

Once more Cullen pulled at the pool of will. The humming in his ears started, the pitch already too high and too strained. He ignored it, focusing past it to the sounds of the wind that lay underneath. Listened to the small, familiar sounds of Skyhold. To the sound of his own steady breathing. When the burning pain at the front of his head begged him to close his eyes, he forced them to stay open. He made himself aware of the solid feel of the stone beneath his feet, the comforting weight of his fur mantle across his shoulders. Slowly the humming and burning diminished, the roof and orb coming into sharper focus, Cullen gave one more sharp push at the ball and... there! One small flicker. Like a candle blown by an open window the flame inside the ball guttered. It didn't quite go out, but it moved.

“Well, I'll be a nugs uncle.” Rylen breathed,

Cullen laughed, half in relief that the small movement hadn't been his imagination. It _had_ moved. Suddenly so tired he felt like he'd fought his way through a battlefield rather than just trying to dispel a tiny flame, he didn't argue when Rylen picked the ball up and returned it to its bag.

“I think that's enough for tonight. Same time tomorrow?”

 

***

 

Word had travelled fast around The Hinterlands, the hostile refugees they'd found in The Cross Roads had been busy. Not quite prepared to give up and return to Skyhold just yet, Ellana had taken her small party to a few of the smaller settlements that scattered the countryside. Some were nothing more than a few houses grouped together. While some people had seemed only polite, others had been down-right frosty. It didn't seem to matter that The Believers wanted her to reopen The Breach, all they saw was that people were being killed, their homes destroyed, and The Inquisitor had the power to make it stop. She could scream it was impossible until she was blue in the face, it wouldn't have changed their minds. They needed someone to blame and blaming her was a lot more satisfying than blaming a faceless organisation. As frustrating as she found it, she could understand it to an extent.

Sera's reaction was touching in a way that only Sera seemed able to pull off. Despite her own initial reaction to the news of The Believers, the more resentment they came across the more defensive Sera became, defensive of The Inquisition, but even more so of Ellana. As amusing as it could be to see Sera mutter curses under her breath and offer to fill peoples houses with earwigs, the mood was quiet and sombre when they turned back towards The Cross Roads to retrieve the soldiers that would be returning to Skyhold. This trip hadn't helped Cole the way Ellana had hoped it would, and it was well past time she talked to him. Soon they'd be back at Skyhold, and she'd be back to being pulled in a hundred different directions. It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to talk to him, or that she didn't care. On the contrary, she held a great amount of affection for Cole. Considering that he could technically be older than all of them combined, she probably mothered him a little too much. She couldn't help it sometimes, he was so innocent she couldn't not feel protective of him. The problem was that she was in a similar position to how she imagined Cole was feeling. She wanted to help, but wasn't entirely sure if she could.

Slowing Mr Tiddles, her faithful battle nug, until she was next to him, she watched him for a moment. They'd travelled through The Hinterlands a dozen times, but he always looked like he was seeing it for the first time. His eyes darted from tree to tree, tracking squirrels that scampered across their path or the flocks of birds that flew overhead. She was almost sorry to pull him out of his peaceful meditation.

She reached a hand out to gently squeeze his arm, bringing his attention back to the here and now, smiling at him when he looked over at her in surprise,

“Hey kiddo, what's up?”

“The sky, the trees, the birds, the -”

“I meant what's wrong Cole, not what's literally up.”

“I know,” he said, dipping his head so his face was hidden below the brim of his hat, “That was a joke.”

“You've been spending too much time with Varric.” Ellana said with a grin.

“You're worried about me.” his voice was gentle, slow paced and thoughtful.

_Jumping straight in then,_

“I am. I'm worried that you're spending too much time in the valley, trying to help hurts that you can't heal.”

“You shouldn't. _I'm_ not worried about me. They can't control me any more.”

“Who can't control you?” _When did we stop talking about the refugees?_ Ellana wondered, “The Venatori?”

“Yes. They can't control me. They're trying to control you instead, force the fight, the fury, so it becomes a frenzy.”

“I don't understand.”

“Most hurts are small, people need blankets or food.” Cole said, tilting his head up, so he was talking to the sky, “The hurts in the valley are big. I can't give them what they need to make the pain go away. It's like you. You want to help, to stop the bad things that hurt people. But you can't. Not without opening The Breach. It was so loud.”

“We're going to stop The Believers, Cole. And I'm not going to reopen The Breach, I couldn't even if I wanted to.”

Cole looked down again, focusing his attention on the back of his horses head, “They use other peoples pain to try to control you. It hurts you too. It becomes your pain.”

“Wait, so all this time I've been worried about you, thinking you're pushing yourself too hard in the valley, when really you're just worried about me?”

“Yes.” Cole said quietly, “The people at The Cross Roads want you to go to The Believers, they think it will help. It won't.”

“Cole, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine.”

“Fine, fair, fit as a fiddle. False, false face, false fines. He sees your tells as you see his.”

Ellana swallowed, sometimes she forgot how much Cole saw. She knew Cullen could read her as well as she could read him, but it was different to hear someone actually say the words aloud. “It's... complicated, Cole.” She tried to explain, “Thedas needs The Inquisition, and The Inquisition doesn't need Ellana, it needs The Inquisitor. And The Inquisitor needs to be fine.”

“Yes. The world needs The Inquisitor, _he_ needs Ellana, and you need to be both at the same time. Being one person is hard, being two must be harder.”

“Maybe it's not that complicated after all.” She huffed,

“He's quieter now; he was the steel in the tower of silk, but now he's softer. Not soundless, but quieter than he was with the lyrium. He sounds simpler, steady and smooth where it was sharp. The little bottle still sings, but the song doesn't sound the same. It's easier. But he worries about you.”

“I know.”

“And you worry that you hinder more than you help.”

“I know that too. Sometimes I wonder if I make his life harder.”

“You don't.” Cole's voice took on a slightly more ethereal lilt, the tone his voice slipped into when he was reading someone else's thoughts, “ _The Inquisitor is strong, but Ellana is stronger, she's carrying us all. What would we do without her? Maker, what would_ _ **I**_ _do without her_.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Ellana said, having to clear her throat to shift the sudden ball of emotion.

He smiled at her from under his hat before his eyes skipped away from hers again to watch a flock of birds flying overhead.

His expression was almost serene, and Ellana shook her head. She'd been half right, at least. Helping _had_ made him feel better, but it hadn't been the people at The Cross Roads he'd needed to help, it was her.

“'Lea?” Varric said quietly. Ellana looked up, she hadn't really been paying that much attention to where they'd been going, they'd spent so much time in The Hinterlands during the war with Corypheus that Mr Tiddles knew these paths and trails almost as well as she did. When she looked around her the area was almost unrecognisable.

“Was this -”

“Village number four.” Ellana muttered.

She hadn't realised they'd be passing so close by. The village was tucked into the side of a mountain to protect it from the weather, a rather small cluster of houses grouped close together.

Veering off the path she let Mr Tiddles pick his way through the debris that littered the knee-high grass, some patches had been scorched away to the earth where the fire had been carried by the wind. Most of the buildings had been burned almost down to their foundations, only their skeletal frames still stood. A few others had fared better, but not by much. Hopefully, the people from those houses had been able to salvage a few possessions,

“Well, shit.” Varric cursed quietly from somewhere behind her,

“Sounds about right.” Ellana agreed, swinging herself from the saddle. Small clouds of ash billowed up from where her feet hit the ground, “Stay.” she muttered to her battle nug, before walking slowly toward what must have passed for the village square. The remnants of a funeral pyre remained, the sturdy bottom logs were scorched and blackened by soot, but it was still unmistakeable.

 _How many had they needed to burn?_ Ellana wondered with a sigh, glancing around again at the burned-out buildings, _a dozen? More?_

A shiver worked itself up her spine, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. An uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with the burned-out village caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Turning in a slow circle she glanced across the ridge that overlooked them, suddenly feeling very small and exposed. She couldn't see anything out of place, but still the sensation of being watched persisted. Cole had picked up on her feeling, his hands twitched toward the twin daggers on his hips. His sharp eyes jumped from tree to tree as he shuffled his feet restlessly. She trusted Cole's instincts even more than she trusted her own, if he was feeling this as she was, then it was time to move,

“Come on, let's go.” she said, taking one last look around the village before turning back to where Mr Tiddles was waiting for her. His small ears were flicking backwards and forwards, and his strangely intelligent eyes were watching her closely.

 _Even the damn nug knows there's something not right here,_ she thought, forcing an air of nonchalance into her body language as she followed her own footsteps back through the tall grass,

“We'll get them, 'Lea.” Varric murmured at her side,

“Yeah, of course we will.” she said, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.

 

 


	10. Cruel and unusual punishment.

The sound of the portcullis opening pulled Cullen's attention away from his reports; no large groups were due to arrive at Skyhold today, smaller parties used the gatehouse.

 _If they're opening the portcullis then_... he climbed to his feet and looked out the window. He'd guessed correctly; Ellana's group had returned early. He wasn't entirely sure if this was a good thing or not. The usually rowdy group of soldiers seemed subdued as they followed The Inquisitor's battle nug into the courtyard. Leaving his paperwork where it lay, Cullen grabbed his cloak from the back of his door and exited out into the mid-afternoon sun. A few of the soldiers greeted him with half-hearted salutes as he headed down the stairs outside his office to meet them. Ellana greeted him with a tired looking smile,

“What happened?” he asked, forgetting himself for a moment in his concern and touching the bridle of Ellana's nug. It growled at him from somewhere deep in its chest, and Cullen quickly let go before the damn thing took a chunk from his hand,

“Not here.” she mumbled, calming the nug with a scratch behind the ears. Cullen glared at it, the slightest provocation and it growled at him, she scratched its ears, and he was pretty sure it was purring. _Are battle nugs supposed to purr?_ “You know he'd snap at you less if you used his name. He's smart, he understands.”

“I am not calling him that.”

“Why not? Mr Tiddles suits him. Doesn't it boy?”

“I am literally incapable of saying that aloud.” Cullen said, giving it another dirty look, which he could have sworn the damn thing returned.

“Well, if you lose fingers you've only yourself to blame.” she said, giving her nug another affectionate pat. She found a smile for the stable-hand that hurried over to take the reins of her mount. Swinging a leg over the saddle she slid gracefully to the ground, Cullen's hands went to her hips to help steady her. He squeezed her waist, his head tilted in silent question, she dipped her head in response; she was okay. It wasn't much of a reassurance, Ellana always claimed to be okay. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing all the soldiers that had returned with her were heading for the tavern. Biting her lip she turned back to Cullen,

“Let's get everyone rounded up and gathered in The Den. I need to put some gold behind the bar for the soldiers from The Hinterlands and I think more than a few people will want ale close at hand when they hear what's been going on.”

With runners sent to each member of the inner circle, Cullen and Ellana made their way inside the tavern. With enough coin behind the bar to keep the troops happy for the evening, Cullen and Ellana climbed the stairs. Once alone she turned to him with a serious expression and hands on her hips,

“So, good trip?” Cullen asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at her. She snorted with laughter, totally obliterating her serious Inquisitor persona before wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching up on her toes to kiss him, one of his hands found her face, the other the small of her back, and he drew her to him. Cullen pressed his forehead to hers when she pulled away a little,

“I missed you, vhenan.” she said softly,

“I missed you, too.” He whispered back before kissing her again.

“Put her down Curly, you don't know where she's been.” Varric said with a laugh, entering the room behind them. Ellana pulled her head back but kept her arms around Cullen's neck,

“Don't you have a manuscript to write, or something?” she asked over her shoulder,

“Probably. I do want to make sure I write down that bit with the dagger before I forget -”

“There was a bit with a dagger?” Cullen whispered,

“Don't ask.” Ellana muttered back,

“- but you did call a meeting.” Varric finished.

“Is it too late to run?” Cullen asked.

“It is.” Leliana said, entering the room behind him and poking him in the shoulder as she passed. Reluctantly he took his arms from Ellana's back, letting her off her toes. She winked at him before hopping up to perch on the edge of the table. The others trailed into the room in two's and three's until they were all gathered together,

“What news do you have from The Hinterlands?” Leliana asked, starting the meeting off,

“We met a group of refugees from one of the villages The Believers attacked.” Ellana said, becoming serious once again, “More notes than the ones we have are in circulation, they had a copy too. So, either more than one note is at each village or...”

“Or there're more villages we haven't had word about, Maker.” Cullen finished with a groan, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Maker indeed.” Ellana agreed with a nod.

“I'm fairly certain we would have heard of other attacks.” Leliana said, a faint frown creasing her brow, “We have agents in many places. But I suppose if it was isolated we may not have had word yet. For now, lets work on the assumption there's more than one copy of each note at each village. I still have agents stationed, I'll have them check again.”

“Alright, so when are this group arriving? I'll have people get things ready.” Cullen said, already running logistics for food and housing in his mind.

“There's no need. I don't think they'll be coming.” Ellana said, fidgeting on her spot on the table and pulling at a loose thread on her leggings, “They were... unreceptive to The Inquisitions offer of aid.”

Varric barked a laugh, “That's a nice way of putting it, 'Lea.”

“It wasn't their fault, they -”

“They spat at her, Curly,” Varric said, turning to Cullen and cutting across Ellana's defence of the village, “They blame The Inquisition for bringing this down on them, and blame 'Lea for not handing herself over to the damn Believers.”

“They did what?” Blackwall asked, “After everything we did for them? How soon they bloody forget.”

“It really isn't their fault, they're looking for someone to blame, we're just the most convenient target.” Ellana said, still defending the villagers. Cullen had to say he agreed with Blackwall and Varric wholeheartedly, but Ellana was looking uncomfortable enough already. He made a mental note to bring it up when they were alone.

“There was an awesome bit with a dagger though.” Sera said, making Ellana roll her eyes. Cullen raised an eyebrow at her, she rolled her eyes again but nodded; she'd tell him later.

“The point is,” Ellana continued, “The Inquisition's reputation is being dragged through the mud. We might not be able to rely on information about The Believers that doesn't come directly from our own sources. We need to act sooner rather than later. If we bait them out -”

“We've already had this discussion,” Cullen reminded her, “I think everyone made their opinions on that matter very clear.” But when he looked around at the others, they didn't look quite as sure as they had the last time Ellana's plan had been mentioned. Especially those that had gone to The Hinterlands.

“Inquisitor, even if we were to try your plan, we have no way of knowing if The Believers would take the bait.” Josephine chimed in, Cullen breathed a sigh of relief, for a moment there he thought she might actually change their minds, “They haven't requested that you meet them, all they have asked is that you reopen The Breach. You cannot do as they ask, even if you wished to. Until they give us a meeting point, our hands are tied.”

“Then we need more information, a way to make contact, a base, anything.” Ellana frowned, clearly frustrated by their lack of progress.

“Leliana and I will reach out to our contacts again. Let us see if we can find any new information.”

“Alright, Dorian says he has information but I'd rather not have all our dragon eggs in one basket.”

 

***

 

The first moment Cullen got chance, he told Ellana of his mental block and resumed Templar training. She'd been, much to his amazement, not the least bit surprised. One day he might get used to the fact that she seemed to know him better than he knew himself, but it hadn't happened yet,

“You knew?!” he asked, mouth slightly agape as he watched her leaf through the backlog of letters and papers that had accumulated on the desk in their room during her absence,

“Since before we opened the lyrium rehabilitation clinic for the ex-Templars,” she nodded. When he didn't answer she glanced up to look at him gaping at her, she rose from her chair with a sympathetic smile and patted his hand, “Cullen, we read just about everything ever written on the subject of lyrium, about its uses and withdrawal. We discovered texts that predate the Chantry, we're experts. Of course I knew that the loss of your abilities had nothing to do with you not taking lyrium, you knew it too. Or at least you would have had it been happening to someone else.”

“Why in the Maker's name didn't you tell me?”

“Oh, I almost did, believe me. I nearly brought it up a dozen times at least. It was driving me crazy, for the life of me I couldn't figure it out. Then you told me everything that happened in Kirkwall and at the tower, and it all clicked into place. It was psychological, you needed time to heal. That's all. You'd have realised yourself eventually, when you were ready. Rylen just gave you a nudge.”

“And resuming my Templar training doesn't bother you?”

“Of course not.” she leant up on her toes to kiss him, “Just think; the next time I get carried away and set the hangings around the bed on fire, you can put them out without getting up. That's a win-win in my book.”

Cullen chuckled and gently rubbed his hands up and down her arms, “I don't think that's quite what The Chantry had in mind when they established The Templar Order.”

“You can't possibly know that. I could write to Cassandra and ask if you're really interested.”

“Please don't.” he groaned,

“Spoilsport.” she swatted his shoulder playfully before winking at him, “I still blame you for the singed drapes, by the way.” she leant back to perch on the desk, her expression turning solemn, “Seriously though, how're you finding it?”

“I won't lie, it was tough at first, but it's getting easier every time.”

“I'll help, if you like? I can't imagine it's great practice for you to keep using the fire-orb of Rylen's.”

“You have the time for that?” Cullen asked with a raised brow, eyeing her paper-work backlog,

“I'll find the time for that.” she smiled again before picking up a few of the messages and starting to sort them, her head bent low with the sun streaming through the coloured glass behind her to paint patterns on her hair, “Did you find somewhere to practice? I can't see you being enthusiastic about using the soldiers training grounds.”

“Yeah,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “About that...”

 

She had been less understanding when she'd discovered he'd told Rylen about their secret training ground, she was still muttering mutinously to herself when Cullen led her and Rylen to the roof a few hours later,

“It's a bloody good job you're learning how to do this,” she grumbled behind him as they walked up the stairs, “Because I'm tempted to turn you into a very fetching ice sculpture.” From somewhere behind her Cullen heard Rylen laugh, Cullen shook his head,

 _Rookie mistake,_ he thought, _all you've done is draw her attention._

“I don't know what you're laughing at Rylen,” she said right on cue, “It's not as though I have a maximum number of casts, you'll be melting away right next to him.”

“Ma'am, yes ma'am.” Rylen replied.

Cullen winced; he'd called her ma'am, now he was in serious trouble.

“Since we're divulging secrets,” Ellana said, her voice taking a dangerous turn towards silky, “Is there anything else you'd like to know? I could tell you about this thing Cullen likes where I -”

“Maker no!” Rylen exclaimed, clapping his hands over his ears and humming to drown her out,

“I thought The Inquisition didn't go in for cruel and unusual punishment?” Cullen asked mildly over his shoulder,

“That depends entirely on whom I'm punishing.” Ellana replied, a devilish smile pulling at her mouth,

“I'm going to pay for this, aren't I?” Cullen groaned,

“Oh yes, ma vhenan.”

“Wonderful.” Cullen groaned again as he cleared the hatch to the roof, “That's just wonderful.”

 

“Could you light the torches please, Inquisitor?” Rylen asked when they emerged onto the roof,

“Ellana. Come on Rylen, it's not hard. Say it with me; El-la-na.” she said, flicking her wrists so the torches lining the battlements burst into flame,

“Sorry, Inquisitor.” Rylen said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes at him and turned to face Cullen, “So, is this going to end the same way our training sessions usually do?”

His hands froze from where he'd been removing his sword and heavy cloak.

_Oh, this isn't good!_

Her voice was far too innocent, he didn't trust that tone for an instant. He turned to look at her; her eyes were huge, feigning sweetness and innocence. Her cocked eyebrow told an entirely different story.

_Cruel and unusual punishment indeed._

He glared at her, silently begging her to stop whatever it was she was planning behind that innocent look. She smiled back broadly. At least her back was facing Rylen, thank the Maker for small mercies,

“How does it usually end?” Rylen asked, he was leant back casually against the battlements, totally taken in by her act and seemingly blissfully unaware of the fodder he was feeding her,

“With one of us on our backs and begging for mercy.” she said. Cullen choked a cough, which only made Ellana's devilish smile widen. Cullen prayed the torches weren't bright enough to allow Rylen to see the blush he could feel making its way up his neck,

Thankfully the man seemed utterly oblivious, “I hope you took him down gently, Inquisitor.”

_Maker, will it never end?_

“Oh, don't worry, he got a few good licks in.”

 _That's it,_ Cullen decided, _I'm going to kill her._

“So, who won the last one?” Rylen asked,

_I'm going to kill him too._

“You know,” Ellana mused, “I don't recall. Who finished on top last time, Cullen? You or me?” her shoulders started to shake with the effort of trying not to laugh. Her tongue wet her bottom lip before she took it between her teeth, tilting her head to one side,

“It was a draw.” Cullen blurted, pulling his gaze from her mouth before she could make matters worse, “Shall we get on with it?”

“Jeez, Cullen, buy a girl a drink first.” Cullen glared down his nose at her until she held her hands up in surrender, “Alright, I'm done. Honest.”

“Humph.” Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, “You've run out, haven't you?”

“When I think up some more, you'll be the first to know.”

“I can't wait.” Cullen said dryly,

“Can I throw fireballs at him yet?” Ellana asked Rylen over her shoulder,

“And here I thought you Dalish were all supposed to be about healing, nature and being one with the forest.”

“Seriously?” she raised a brow at Rylen, “In Skyhold we have a beardless surface dwarf, a qunari that values family over duty and a Tevinter mage who's best friend is a Dalish elf, and _that's_ the stereotype you're stuck on?”

“Ha, alright Inquisitor, fair enough.” Rylen chuckled,

“It's Ellana.” she said before turning back to Cullen, “What do you need me to do?”

“So far we've been working with benign magic, anything aggressive is going to be harder, and we don't want to risk an accident.”

“Benign magic isn't really my forte.” Ellana said thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip while her hand came to her throat to play with the lucky coin Cullen had given her that hung on its chain around her neck, “I have my fire mines, of course, but they're fairly similar to what you've already done with the fire in the ball. I imagine what you're looking for is something that's being actively cast and maintained but not too powerful or aggressive?”

“Exactly.” Cullen nodded,

“I could set you up with a disruption field, but — hmm. Oh!” she suddenly brightened, “How about veilfire?”

“Veilfire?” Cullen didn't recognise the name, he was sure he'd never come across it during his time with The Templars, “I'm not familiar with it.”

“That's not surprising, it's an old elven spell from back before the Tevinter Imperium. The Chantry banned teaching it, as I recall.”

“Why? Is it dangerous?”

She shrugged, “I guess that depends on your perspective, but it's not harmful. Here, I'll show you.”

An instant later and Ellana's arms were bathed in green flames up to her elbows, tendrils creeping off higher to surround her face and hair, giving her an almost green halo,

“It's beautiful.” Cullen murmured stepping closer, the earlier teasing was forgotten as she smiled gently at him,

“It'll burn for an eternity without needing fuel, but its true use is communication. Back in ancient times, the elves would inscribe runes with messages that could only be read by veilfire. Of course, messages that can only be seen by someone using magic could be used against the circles, hence the banning. Not for the first time The Chantry missed the point entirely; messages written using veilfire can pass on sensations and emotions. Even memories can be left behind for someone to feel first-hand. Imagine what a person could learn if you could pass on the understanding of an idea, not just an idea itself. Not ideologies and intentions that can be left open for interpretation, but a true understanding.”

“That's incredible.” he whispered, watching the green flames flow gracefully around her arms. A long time ago, so long ago it could have been part of a different life, Cullen had been fascinated by magic. Before Kirkwall and Kinlock Hold. He'd thought those experiences had destroyed that fascination for good; fear, anger and distrust had taken its place. Then he'd left The Chantry, quit lyrium, joined The Inquisition and met Ellana. Her magic made him feel many things, but never fear. Then the fascination had returned.

“You can touch it if you want. There's no heat, only light.” Cullen's hand passed through the green flame, she was right, he didn't feel any heat from it, just the familiar sensation of Ellana's magic, “Can you feel this?”

“Makers breath.” he hissed, the veilfire pulsed brighter and the tingling sensation travelled down Cullen's hand and into his arm, lifting the fine blonde hair under his armour. He glanced at her through the green haze and saw her beaming a huge smile at him, “What?” he asked.

“You just stuck your hand in mysterious, magical fire!”

“Yes, but _your_ mysterious, magical fire.” Cullen chuckled, experimentally laying his palms on top of hers and watching the fire lick painlessly through their fingers, “I rather think that trusting _your_ magic is a given at this point.”

“Just when I start to take it for granted something happens, and I'm amazed all over again.” her voice was soft, and her eyes so filled with affection that it made his chest lighten just to see it,

“Ugh,” Rylen groaned, “You two are sickening, you know that?”

“Oh, er, Rylen.” Ellana started a little, sending pleasant sparks of mana along Cullen's skin,

“You completely forgot I was here, didn't you?” Rylen laughed,

“A bit, yeah.” she grinned at him sheepishly, letting the veilfire go out. The roof felt much darker and cooler in its absence, “Sorry.”

“Quite alright, Inquisitor.” Rylen grinned, “In any event, the veilfire you conjured should work well enough for practice, shall we?”

Cullen had almost entirely forgotten why they were up here in the first place, judging by the slight widening of Ellana's eyes he wasn't the only one. She took a few steps back into the centre of the roof, twisting her wrists and stretching her fingers.

“Now, we're just purging the veilfire, so there shouldn't be a drain on your mana, wouldn't want to leave you feeling drained when we have work to do.” Rylen said, a touch of concern entering his voice,

“It's fine,” Ellana reassured him, “I'm not worried.”

“Good. Alright, let's give it a try.”

Ellana flicked her hands and once again the green flames burst into life on her arms. Cullen could feel the small pool of will he'd been building up, sitting there and waiting for him to tap into it. But suddenly, he was very aware it was Ellana's magic he was about to try to purge. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd feel so conflicted about it. She had been so concerned about the effect her magic would have on him. Much to both of their surprise, it had never bothered him in the least. Her magic was part of her. He'd once told her he didn't love her _despite_ her magic, he just loved her, magic included. Trying to purge it now was-

“Hey,” she said softly, sensing his hesitation, “It's fine.”

“But-”

“Unless you think you can't?” she cocked her head to one side and smiled, “If you think my magic is too powerful for you?” Just like that she turned it into a game, he smiled back, she always knew what he needed. He dipped into that little well of focused will and pushed. The veilfire flickered as though caught in a gust of wind. It didn't go out, but it was certainly better than Cullen had been expecting for a first attempt,

“Oh, wow!” Ellana exclaimed almost excitedly, “I felt it, it's like a wave of cold water. Try again?”

On Cullen's third attempt he could purge the veilfire entirely, on the fifth Ellana actually staggered backwards a step.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, slightly alarmed,

“Yes, it's not painful. I guess it's similar to magic? The intent behind it has an effect? I imagine if you were to do the same thing while angry or afraid it would feel different.”

“That makes sense I suppose, though we don't draw from the fade as mages do.”

“No, what you do isn't magic, not exactly. There's something otherworldly about it though, maybe some small link to the fade that allows emotions to have an impact.” She looked thoughtful for a moment before shrugging, “Just something to think about, I guess. Want to try one more?”

The headache that Cullen now associated with his Templar training had started to build in the centre of his forehead, but he thought he had another one or two purges left before they'd have to call it a night. He was about to ask Ellana to summon her veilfire again when the hatch to their roof banged open, causing all of them to jump a little.

“'Lea?” Varric's head poked through the opening before spotting them and clambering through,

“Fenedhis, I may as well start charging admission.” Ellana muttered,

“Well _I_ didn't tell him.” Cullen replied, shooting a pointed look in Rylen's direction, Rylen held his hands up in submission,

“Don't look at me.” he said, “I didn't tell him either.”

“You guys really think you can keep this a secret?” Varric scoffed, “Please. Remember who you're talking to, I've known about this place for months.”

“Excuse me? _Months_??” Ellana gaped,

“Yeah, most of us know.” Varric shrugged, “We just thought it was nice you had somewhere to yourselves.”

“Ugh.” Ellana said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Dammit Varric, now you've made it sweet. I can't even _pretend_ to be cross if you're going to pull shit like that.”

“Like you could ever be cross with a dwarf this charming.” Varric said, dusting his knees off, “I wouldn't be here now if I didn't think you'd fireball me in the ass for not telling you immediately.” He turned a look of sympathy on Ellana, “Sorry 'Lea, they need you in Haven.”

“Why? What's happened?” Ellana asked, already shifting into Inquisitor mode.

“I'm not totally sure, your soldiers need to work on their handwriting. I could make out that nobody's hurt, so don't panic, but people seem pretty shook up down there, you better head down and see what's going on.”

“Send a bird ahead, I'm on my way.” Ellana had vanished through the hatch almost before she'd finished talking. Cullen turned to Varric,

“That's all I know, I swear.” Varric said, holding his hands up in surrender, “But, er, I'd go with her if I were you, Curly. If it's The Believers up to their tricks on our doorstep then it might be better to have someone there to stop 'Lea from doing something stupid. Not that she makes a habit out of doing stupid shit when she's pissed off, or anything.” Varric finished with a grin.

“Good point.”

 

 

 

 


	11. We're going to need some coffee.

By the time Ellana returned from The Undercroft with her armour and weapons, Cullen had their mounts ready to go by the gates. He'd quickly handed over his guard rotations and training schedule to Rylen.

They were only going to Haven and back. Only a few months ago the trip would have taken nearly a day and a half each way on horseback. With the traders and pilgrims still making their way up and down the mountain, they'd created paths and roads. Cullen had even set-up a guard station at the half-way point where they could change mounts to shorten the travel-time even further. It was now only an hour after dusk, with the worry of what was happening in Haven to fuel them, Cullen expected them to arrive in Haven by morning. As long as they didn't end up lost in a blizzard, of course. With that in mind, he'd selected a pair of sure-footed swift mountain ponies for their descent; a breed the Avaar used to traverse perilous terrain. He knew they'd be in a hurry, taking one of their more exotic mounts was only asking for trouble.

“What? No Mr Tiddles?” Ellana asked as she swung herself into her saddle. Cullen rolled his eyes, at least her bad sense of humour was still working.

“I wanted to keep my fingers thanks, that damn nug still hates me.”

 

Ellana glanced over at him as Haven came into view; a frown, caught somewhere between confusion and concern, creased her brow. The eastern edge of the horizon hadn't yet turned pink, but Haven was lit up like a beacon. After their darkened trip through the mountains, the glare of reflected flame on the snow was dazzling enough to leave spots on the back of Cullen's eyelids whenever he blinked. That light wasn't just from their guards on the walls; it was far too bright.

_What could have happened in Haven to warrant every torch burning?_

The concern on Ellana's face chilled to something darker. Her expression bordered on fierce, her jaw clenched, reins wrapped tight around each tight fist. It was almost enough to make Cullen pity whatever fool had decided that targeting their first home had been a good idea. Almost, but not quite.

The ground levelled out, and she clicked her tongue, nudging their mounts to a faster pace. Snow kicked up by hooves billowed into wet, silent clouds around them, turning them into ghosts from the knees down as their mounts went from a trot to a gallop.

Cullen hailed the guards on their look-out posts and several of them scurried off to open the gates for them. Rebuilding Haven after the avalanche had been a group effort. The residents had done much of it themselves, they'd insisted upon it, in fact. It said volumes about them, they refused to be beaten. They'd rebuilt, as they had after the Blight. Haven was now bigger than it had been when The Inquisition called the village home, new buildings replaced the ones that were destroyed (the tavern had been the first, naturally). Though the large stone chantry had somehow survived. It had needed repairs; large sections of the roof had collapsed and the inside had been decimated, but the structure itself remained. It had quickly become the symbol not only of the Chant, but also of Haven itself; battered and bruised, but still standing.

Despite the hour, Haven bustled with activity. New and old residents alike were scurrying through the village with nervous glances and hurried steps. The relief on their faces when he and Ellana rode through the gates was palatable. The Commander in him was pleased to bring these people peace after they had endured so much. Another, rather more personal, part of him was frustrated with the fact that wherever they went people expected The Inquisitor to be able to fix everything, that they relied on her so heavily made him uneasy.

Their reaction hadn't gone unnoticed by Ellana; she rose higher in her saddle, spine stiff and head held high — despite hours spent on horseback trying to navigate the treacherous mountain paths — her expression severe and authoritative. It couldn't have been plainer that she was here to fix things, and not to bring welcome, but ultimately fruitless, comfort. It was comforting in-and-of itself he supposed. This was what they needed right now: action, not sympathy.

A trio of guards hurried over to them as they dismounted. Two relieving them of their horses while another led them through the village and explained what was going on,

“Inquisitor, Commander,” he greeted them respectfully with a salute over his chest, “Thank you for coming so quickly. I think you'll want to see this. Everything is exactly as we found it, though almost every person in Haven has taken notice. If you were hoping to keep this quiet then I'm afraid the cat is out of the bag, so to speak.”

The guard was almost stammering in his eagerness to give his report, to push whatever this mess was up the chain of command. Ellana found a tight smile for him, it was small and barely pulled at the corners of her eyes, and was leagues away from the beaming smile she'd bestowed upon Cullen just a few hours ago. He could hear her mutter quiet assurances to the guard, but Cullen was barely listening. After hearing the story of what had happened at The Cross Roads he was studying every face they passed carefully, looking for enemies where logically he knew none existed. Maker, he was getting paranoid. He was so busy staring intently at the villagers they passed that he almost walked directly into Ellana when she came to an abrupt stop outside the doors to the chantry.

A small group of guards were hovering by the chantry doors, they parted as he and Ellana approached. If Cullen hadn't been stood so close to her then he would have missed the sudden hitch in Ellana's breathing, the small gasp that she smothered in her throat as it tried to escape. He hadn't thought she could tense any further, he was, apparently, wrong. His own joints winced in sympathy.

The sight that greeted them was so familiar, and yet so alien at the same time; a strange echo of when he had posted the declaration of the founding of The Inquisition so long ago. Cullen felt every drop of oxygen leave his lungs in one long exhale. Instead of a writ by The Divine, it was now a note from The Believers pinned to the chantry doors. Six words that mirrored every note they'd found at every destroyed village. The words screamed at him from the white parchment.

 

**Inquisitor,**

 

**Open The Breach.**

 

**The Believers.**

 

_They'd been in Haven? How was that possible??_

A thousand scenarios flew through his mind, each as unlikely as the last. The headache that had started when they were practising purging spiked painfully through his eyes and down his neck. He knew, _knew_ , The Believers were goading them, trying to make them angry. This knowledge did little to help stem the sudden flush of rage.

_They were in our home?_ _**Our home!** _

Cullen forced himself to breathe, to grip the pommel of his sword when all his hands wanted to do was find these people and wring the life out of them.

He recovered faster than Ellana, he was pretty sure she'd hadn't taken a breath since they'd arrived at the chantry. He released the death-grip he had on his sword to place his hand on the small of her back. She was like a coiled spring, the muscles of her back bunched and tense, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

“You men are dismissed.” Cullen said to the soldiers, “Ensure there are guards posted at all the gates, then get some rations and rest.”

The soldiers saluted them before heading away to follow his orders. Ellana didn't seem to notice they'd gone. Her gaze hadn't shifted from the chantry doors and the note held in place by a dagger.

“They were in Haven.” He heard her whisper, mostly to herself. Her expression hadn't changed; on the surface she was still Inquisitor -don't-mess-with-me- Lavellan, only Cullen could see what lay just beneath. Could see just how thoroughly the rug had been pulled out from under her, because he knew to look and knew what to look for.

He moved in closer, blocking the view of anyone stood behind them, and pressed his fingers more firmly into the small of her back. She leant against him, but none of the tension left her small frame. He didn't like the hollow look in her eyes, the almost empty helplessness, transfixed on the paper. He did the only thing he could think of that might shift it. Stepping around her he pulled the dagger and paper down. It wasn't until he examined the dagger more closely that he recognised it,

“This knife...” he started,

“It's mine.” Ellana said in a small voice, almost as hollow as her eyes had been, “It's the one I left behind at The Cross Roads.”

“At The Cross Roads?” he whipped around, “They were _watching_ you?”

“I felt like we were being watched in The Hinterlands, but I thought it was my imagination.” she shrugged, her hands came up from her sides to wrap around herself, her constantly active fingers tapped out a rhythm on her arms, “We found the remains of the fourth village, it was eerie, creepy. Like walking around a crypt. I put it down to that.”

“If you left this knife at The Cross Roads, then maybe one of the refugees from there did this? From what you said it sounds like they'd be angry enough.”

“No. It's _them_. I just know it is.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, took several deep breaths and shook her head. When she opened her eyes again, the glassy stare was gone, confidence and righteous fury had taken its place.

She was The Inquisitor again. Cullen wasn't sure if he was impressed, terrified or in complete awe. Probably all of the above.

“Alright Commander, let's work.”

She took the note from him and tucked it in her pocket. Cullen nodded and let himself fall back into his role as Commander, as she had with hers. He was used to her Inquisitor mask, was used to the surety and confidence it leant her. It was one more aspect of her personality that he loved, but a small voice in the back of his head nagged; he wasn't sure how much longer it would hold out. How much more of a beating it could take. But he understood the need to work, to put purpose in the place of worry. Maker knew he did the same damn thing himself. Right now she needed strategies, numbers, facts. A problem they could solve, instead of ghosts that vanished without a trace and left nothing but bodies, destruction and blighted notes in their wake.

Without realising he was doing it, Cullen found his spine straightening, his body reacting of its own accord to the authority he could practically feel oozing from her. He'd met seasoned leaders — the veterans of wars and battles beyond counting — that couldn't command as she did. She had a way of making it look natural, almost effortless.

“Somebody must have seen who planted this note.”

“Agreed.” she nodded, glancing around the village, “There are only three gates into Haven.”

“And they're all manned.”

“So unless they tunnelled in under the walls, someone has seen them come or go. We need to talk to everyone here.”

“Let's bring them into the chantry in groups for questioning.”

“We're going to need some coffee.”

 

They'd set up in the room that had once been their War Room. It had been somewhat jarring to walk in and see their map and markers missing. The corners of the table that had once belonged to either Leliana or Josephine when they'd held meetings looked oddly cold and dark without them. The last few hours had seen Cullen and Ellana on one side of the large wooden table, and various inhabitants of Haven on the other. Empty cups and glasses were scattered among the papers, notes and balled up pieces of paper. At some point, a thoughtful guard had brought them some food, but they'd only picked at it to be polite, neither of them had felt much like eating.

They were finally on their last group. The last half-dozen people in Haven to be interviewed. Cullen tried not to scowl as he rose from his chair to open the door for them to leave. They'd spoken to everyone, every man, woman and child that called Haven home, and not one, _not one,_ had seen who had posted that message.

“Do you need anything?” Ellana asked them, as she'd asked the others, “Is there anything more we can do for you?”

“No, Inquisitor. Thank you.” one of the men answered, his head bent, nodding respectfully before steering his wife toward the door.

Ellana smiled slightly at them before bending over the table to attend to the papers laid out in front of her. The young woman stopped in the doorway and looked back, ignoring her husband's attempts to hurry them from the room,

“Do _you_ need anything, Inquisitor?” she asked. Ellana's head jerked up from the table, confusion furrowing her brow,

“I'm sorry?”

“I mean no disrespect, your Worship.” the young woman continued, a small nervous waver in her voice, “But is there anything _we_ can do for _you_?”

This time when Ellana smiled it was brighter, more of her and less of The Inquisitor shined through, “I'm fine, Helena. But thank you very much for asking.”

Cullen had no idea where she'd pulled the woman's name from, he couldn't have produced it if his life had depended on it. The brightness of Helena's smile outshone Ellana's as her husband finally succeeded at shepherding her through the door and out into the hall of the chantry.

Cullen closed the door gently behind them with a sigh,

“How is it possible we still know nothing?” she asked, slumping in her chair and letting her head fall back to look at the ceiling, “They moved in and out of Haven and nobody saw them? _Nobody?_ How are they doing it?”

“There are so many new people in Haven, refugees arrive every day. It wouldn't be difficult to slip in with a group. We wouldn't even know someone was out of place.” Cullen said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked hard to try to force the exhaustion from his eyes,

“But why come all this way, go to all this trouble, just to put up a note and leave? It doesn't make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.” he glanced at her, surprised he'd caught it when she hadn't, “They're sending us, or, more specifically, _you_ a message. Look at how much they've been able to say just by pinning a note to a door. They've told us they can get in and out of Haven without being spotted, they've told us they're watching us by using your knife. They're saying their not afraid of us.”

“Yeah? Well all they've managed to do is piss me off.”

“That's part of it too. They're _trying_ to anger you off, they left _your_ knife pinned to the chantry door of The Inquisition's first home. Of course they're trying to anger you. You can't let them. We get angry, we make mistakes. They win.”

“It isn't right.” she scowled, “We told these people they'd be safe with The Inquisition, they've been through enough.”

“I'll increase guard presence, but -”

“But The Believers have already made their point.” she muttered, “Fenedhis.”

“Exactly, I doubt they'll return.”

He crossed the room to lean back against the table, rubbing absently at the tired muscles of his neck. This had been a total waste of time. They'd been at it all night, or day, or whatever Maker forsaken hour it was, and were no closer to stopping The Believers. Ellana tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin then looked over at him, mouth open to speak then closed it again with a blink that was definitely Ellana, _his_ Ellana, not The Inquisitor. She instantly got to her feet, moving around the table to stand in front of him. Her hands slipped around to the back of his neck, seeking out the small pressure point that eased his headaches. Cullen felt the instant she found it, he hadn't realised how much tension he was holding in his shoulders until he felt it run out of him. She somehow always knew what he needed. He dropped his forehead onto hers with a grateful hum, his hands rubbing up and down her arms as her fingers continued to knead the muscles of his neck,

“It's from the Templar training, isn't it? I should have realised sooner, I'm sorry. I'm -”

“Distracted?” he provided, opening one eye to peer at her,

“That's one word for it, I guess.” her smile was tired, tinged with sadness around the edges, but it wasn't her Inquisitor smile, that was something, “It's just a mess.” she waved a hand to encompass the stacks of folders, all bereft of any real information.

Cullen wanted to ask if she was alright, the question was certainly in the offing, he could almost feel it tingling on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back; asking would only force her to lie, to tell him she was fine, so she could keep believing it was true. She tried to push a hand through her hair, scowling slightly when her fingers hit the barrier of braids that held her silver mane in check, and Cullen realised he probably wasn't the only one with an archdemon sized headache. Unfortunately, Ellana didn't have a conveniently placed bundle of nerves he could manipulate, unless -

Her fingers were still probing under the tight crown of braids twisted around her head, he nudged them out of the way, carefully withdrawing one of the hairpins and dropping it to the table. It was fiddly, he was sure that Ellana's small, nimble fingers would have the braids unravelled in a fraction of the time, but with each loosened strand he saw another ounce of tension leave her shoulders. By the time he was done and could pull his hand through the wild silver curls she was resting her head in his palm with her eyes closed. Cullen felt inordinately proud of himself when she sighed in relief, a small smile playing around her mouth,

“How long do you think it'll be before Varric writes that whole dagger thing into one of his stories?” he teased lightly,

“If he does, then I will literally kill him.” she replied, still smiling,

“No, you won't.”

“No, I won't. But he doesn't know that.”

“I hate to break it to you love, but yeah, he probably does.”

 

 

 

 

 


	12. It should be raining.

Cullen hid a wide, jaw-cracking yawn behind the latest stock-take from Haven. He was running drills with the newest recruits while simultaneously trying to read about their food reserves and work on the guard rotations in Haven. It certainly wouldn't reflect well on The Inquisition to have their Commander seen yawning through basic training.

The food rations would need to be altered to take into account the new guards and soldiers that Cullen had stationed in the valley. While he was almost sure The Believers wouldn't appear in Haven again, he was taking no chances. They'd tripled the guard and changed shift patterns to allow for an overlap. Of course, they couldn't account for everything, but Haven was now as well protected as he could make it,

“That's a shield you're holding,” he barked at one of the recruits over his report, making the recruit almost drop said shield as he jumped and tried to raise his shield and salute Cullen all at the same time, “It will do you no good if you're holding it by your waist. Block, don't hide. Again.”

The recruits opponent repeated the attack pattern, the swings of his practice sword were blocked competently by the jumpy recruit before he followed up with the counter-attack Cullen had shown them earlier. Cullen nodded his approval before returning most of his attention to the folders in his hands.

Luckily, the negative feeling toward The Inquisition that Ellana had reported in The Hinterlands seemed to have little-to-no effect on the number of recruits they were receiving. It still seemed that every day new people arrived, willing to pledge themselves to their cause. Probably a good thing, Cullen thought wryly, Skyhold was thin on the ground for soldiers lately. So many had been sent to the far corners of Ferelden and Orlais so they'd have a fast response time to any news of The Believers.

He was just about to make some corrections — _really? Only twelve casks of ale? Clearly, the writer of this report hadn't seen how much their guards could drink in their free time —_ when his attention was once again pulled away from his reports, though this time it was by one of Leliana's messengers instead of a recruit. She appeared at his elbow, brown eyes looked up at him enquiringly from under her hood,

“Commander Cullen,” she greeted him with a small bow, “Sister Nightingale requests your presence in the War Room.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen spotted another messenger in a similar uniform hurrying up the steps to the mage tower; going for Ellana, he suspected. If Leliana thought it necessary to pull them both from their afternoon duties then something serious must be happening. He closed the folders with a snap, resigned to the fact that his paperwork would once again be taking a back seat in order of importance, and returned the messengers bow,

“Tell Sister Nightingale that I'll be right there.” The messenger saluted sharply and was off the moment Cullen finished speaking.

A few moments later and Cullen had left one of his lieutenants in charge of the drills and was heading into the Great Hall, his stack of folders tucked uncomfortably under one arm.

Ellana caught him up just as he was passing through the double doors, wordlessly taking half his burden into her unencumbered arms,

“Fenedhis, what do you think happened now?”

“No idea.” He glanced to his side, her eyes were narrowed, new dark smudges he hadn't seen since their long battle against Corypheus were underneath them, and she was chewing on her bottom lip, “Maybe the dwarves are in revolt, marching on the surface with a plan to rule us all.” he said, her expression cleared as a reluctant grin spread across her face, Cullen considered it a victory,

“Perhaps you're right, and soon we'll see nugs swarming the landscape, laying waste to the crops.”

“No, not the nugs. Give me plagues, famine, anything but nugs!” Cullen groaned dramatically. Several of the nobles that seemed to never leave the Great Hall turned to give them some very strange looks, but Cullen didn't care, Ellana sudden peal of surprised laughter was well worth it.

“If this does turn out to be the dwarves, then I am totally blaming you.” she said, as she poked him in the shoulder.

Cullen was chuckling lightly as he held the door open to Josephine's empty office.

Their laughter soon came to an end when they entered the War Room to find Leliana and Josephine already waiting for them. Both women were hunched over the ever-present map, backlit from the sun pouring through the large window behind them. They were studying the markers, both wearing very serious expressions,

“Good, you're both here.” Leliana said, Ellana caught his eye for a moment, _straight to business then,_ the look seemed to say, before they both approached the table and took their places, “A group of lookouts I had placed watching over Sulchers Pass have fallen silent,” Leliana frowned, part irritation, part worry if Cullen had to guess, “It's not like them. I'm concerned something has happened to them, or someone is interfering with our communication.”

“How often were you expecting to hear from them?” he asked, his eyes swept over the map, reminding himself of where his own markers were placed.

“If all's well, they were to report every twelve hours.”

“Every twelve hours seems excessive,” Ellana said, frowning herself as she picked up a spare map marker and flipped it between her palms; her hands busy as her mind focused on the problem, “Could they have lost track of time? Or forgotten?”

“No, it's been too long,” Leliana answered with a shake of her head, “These agents are in charge of other scouts in the region, they're some of my best. They wouldn't just forget.”

“I think we can rule out nugs.” Ellana muttered to him out of the corner of her mouth, “Where, exactly, were they stationed?” she asked the room at large, leaning further over the map,

“This ridge.” Leliana ran a finger down a mountain chain, “It gives the best view of the pass.”

“Isn't there someone nearby we can send to go check on them?” Josephine asked,

“The majority of my men are posted on the wrong side of the mountain,” Cullen said, indicating his markers, “It would take them too long to go around.”

“And the ones on the right side of the mountain?”

“Protecting settlements.” Cullen sighed, straightening and rubbing the back of his neck, “Sending them would require leaving either The Cross Roads or Redcliffe Village unprotected. We can ill afford another attack.”

“Agreed. Those soldiers need to stay where they are.” Ellana said with a decisive nod, “There's no one else?”

Cullen scanned the markers once more before shaking his head. While they had plenty of new recruits, they were too raw to send into the field unsupervised, and the fully trained soldiers were spread too thin to send after missing scouts.

“So, what are we going to do?” Josephine asked, tapping her pen distractingly against her clipboard. Cullen could see only one solution, and it seemed he wasn't the only one; he could almost feel the weight of Ellana's gaze on the side of his head. His eyes raked over the markers again, hoping another solution would jump out at him, none did.

“Cullen?” she urged quietly. He glanced up, Leliana and Josephine were engrossed in their own conversation, debating the pros and cons of asking the local nobles for help. He knew full well that Ellana had come to the same conclusion that he had,

“Krem?” he murmured, inclining his head in agreement to her unasked question.

He'd rather have kept her close; the incident in Haven had shaken them both. These were, however, their people. Their disappearance needed to be investigated, either to find the scouts or to discover what had happened to them. Also, Leliana was right, they couldn't afford to leave Sulchers Pass unguarded. Still, if he wasn't already struggling with his workload then he'd have gone with her himself. She was more than capable of defending herself, he knew that, it was more to put his own mind at ease.

“Plus Bull and Blackwall.” she nodded, “We can take a few of The Chargers too, if the scouts really have disappeared then The Chargers can stay and guard the pass until we find out what happened.”

She placed the marker she was still tossing from palm to palm on the table and trailed a finger along a path, Cullen frowned and shook his head, pointing out a more direct route she'd missed. She nodded silently, he held up two fingers and looked at her seriously, and she nodded again in understanding. If she wasn't back in two days and hadn't sent a missive, he was coming after her.

 

***

 

Sulchers pass wasn't far. The weather had been fine, and Ellana's party had excellent visibility. They hadn't even come across a single disaster on their way down, not even minor ones, it was almost a miracle by their standard. They'd easily found the spot the scouts should have been manning; it was exactly where Leliana had said it would be.

Ellana should have known right then that something was going to go disastrously wrong. Nothing was ever this easy.

The scout's camp was set on the edge of a high ridge with a perfect view over the valley, it was sheltered by a crop of trees that kept the occasional harsh mountain winds at bay. The spot was beautiful, idyllic, except for the fact that it was completely abandoned.

Ellana walked slowly through the camp. Her gaze swept the ground in front of her, looking for something that they'd missed. The imprint of a boot that didn't belong, a track in the mud from something being dragged along the ground, something, anything. She came up empty.

The others were picking through the scout's belongings, looking for clues or some sign of where they might have gone,

“I can't understand it,” Blackwall said as he pulled his shaggy head out of one of the tents, “Everything is still here; cooking implements, sleeping bags, don't even look like they've been disturbed.”

“But the fire's been dead for hours, maybe days,” Krem interjected. He poked at the charred bits of wood that were left, “See? Not even an ember.”

“It looks as though they just woke up one morning and started walking,” Ellana said, hands on hips as she turned in a slow circle, “There should be seven of our people here. We didn't pass anyone on our way down here, so where do you suppose they -”

“Er, Boss?” Bull interrupted, he was standing on the ridge and looking out over the valley, “You're gonna want to come look at this.”

“Is it the scouts?” Ellana asked as she picked her way through the campsite, trying her best not to disturb anything but somehow spilling half the cooking pots into the burned out firepit anyway,

“Not exactly.” Bull answered.

Ellana moved up to stand next to him and groaned. There was smoke rising in a plume from the valley,

“Mythal's mercy, there's a settlement there. Let's move.”

 

Village number five.

It had been a very small settlement — _thank The Creators for small mercies —_ barely a handful of homes. Regardless of how small it had been, it had been all these people had. And now? It was gone.

Despite rushing down the mountain at break-neck speed, The Believers were still long gone by the time Ellana and the others reached the wreckage.

They dismounted just inside the boundary of the village and picked their way carefully through the destruction. Blackwall was muttering curses to himself but the others didn't speak as they looked around and saw for themselves first-hand what The Believers were capable of. Everything was destroyed, every building, every barn, right down to the wagons. The people that lived here had tried to save what they could by carrying water from a nearby stream, they hadn't been able to salvage anything significant. The smell of the damp, charred wood swirled around them on the breeze, sickeningly sweet and hanging in the air.

By rights, it should be raining, Ellana thought, the sunshine that refused to stop shining down on them was almost an insult.

Her stomach dropped and swooped inside her when she spotted the funeral pyre; it was still smouldering under a sheet that someone had thrown over it, the fabric had singed in a few places and had begun to turn black. It was a wonder that hadn't caught fire too.

Ellana had never seen a funeral pyre before joining The Inquisition, the first she'd seen had been after Corypheus had devastated Haven. The Dalish respected death as a natural part of life, their burial rites saw their brother's and sister's earthly bodies buried in the earth, that was where their mortal journey ended when Falon'Din saw them into the Beyond. A tree was customarily planted on the site, it symbolised the Dalish belief that death was a part of life, that death was, indeed, necessary for new life to flourish.

This? There was nothing natural or necessary about this. These deaths couldn't be respected as a part of life, this was life taken. Stolen. Destroyed.

The smell of the damp wood had overpowered the stench of burning flesh. Regardless, her stomach still rolled, and she stumbled, Bull had to throw out an arm to steady her. She didn't have the voice to thank him, and he didn't seem to expect it, but he took a small step closer to her side as she walked. Whether it was to silently comfort her, block the sight of the pyre or just to prevent her from stumbling again, she didn't know. Maybe it was all three. She was grateful whatever the answer was.

As they reached the centre of the village they found the small knot of survivors grouped together. A cowardly part of her wanted nothing more than to run away, to not see their grief or heartache. She squashed the impulse in disgust, and forced herself to look them in the eye as she approached.

A few children peeked at her from behind the legs of family members, their eyes huge and wary. Something in her chest twisted painfully. So young to have witnessed such devastation. The adults they were hiding behind weren't fairing much better. Some wept, others simply looked too shocked to deal with what had suddenly happened around them.

Ellana made her way to the person closest to her; a young woman around her own age. The young woman's hands were wrapped tightly around the shoulders of a small boy. The woman's eyes were too round and filled with tears. Ellana tried to make herself look as non-threatening as possible, holding her palms out and walking slowly,

“We're The Inquisition,” she said gently, her voice barely over a whisper, “We're here to help you.” The woman nodded mutely, Ellana was fairly sure she hadn't heard a word,

“You're The Inquisitor?” said a small voice, Ellana looked down, the little boy was looking up at her, tear tracks ran through the soot that had half covered his face,

“You're a smart boy. My name is Ellana, what's yours?” Ellana asked, hunkering down onto her haunches, so she was looking up at him instead of the other way around,

“I'm Evan. Are you an elf?”

“That's right, da'len. The ears gave me away, didn't they?” Ellana said, trying a small smile and feeling immeasurably grateful for the one Evan gave her in return, “Well Evan, I want to help you. Is this your mum?”

Evan nodded in response, “If you're The Inquisitor, does that mean you're going to find the bad people? They killed my grandfather.”

“Yes, da'len. But first I'm going to take care of you, your mum and all these other people. Do you see those people over there?” Ellana pointed to the few members of The Bulls Chargers that were hovering at the entrance to the village, “Those are The Chargers, they're the good guys, and they're here to look after you. Do you think you could take your mum over to them?”

Evan nodded, prying one of his mother's hands from his shoulders. Ellana watched as the too-small boy led his mother over to the troops,

“Brave boy.” Krem muttered from behind her,

“He's a child, he shouldn't need to be brave.” Ellana replied on a sigh before getting to her feet and turning to face her friends, “Spread out, and help those you can. We'll take any that want to come back to Haven.”

Ellana spent the next few hours quietly moving through the survivors of the attack. Listening to those that wanted, or needed, to talk, finding people to help the ones that seemed too shook up to look after themselves just yet and, once or twice, just holding someone's hand as they cried. More than a few of them were grateful, Ellana wished they weren't. She'd thought the angry outburst she had received at The Cross Roads was bad, but this was so much worse. Every time someone thanked her, it felt as though a knife buried in her chest was being twisted painfully.

Finally, all the refugees were on the road to Haven with The Chargers. Bull, Blackwall and Krem approached her, they were covered in soot from sifting through peoples belongings, trying to salvage things for the refugees to take with them,

“There's a note here somewhere,” she said, “We can't leave until we find it.”

With painstaking slowness they picked through the skeletal remains of the buildings.

It was Ellana that found it first, and when she did she thanked the Gods that it had been her and not one of the others. At first glance it appeared the same as the rest of the notes they'd found, but this one had an addendum at the bottom. It was co-ordinates, she realised, along with a date, time and the words ' **come alone** ' underlined. Anger with an undeniable tinge of guilt curled in the pit of her stomach. She stared so long at the words that they began to blur.

Was this intentional? Had The Believers known they'd be here? That they would witness this newest act of destruction themselves? Had they done something to the scouts to ensure she'd be here personally?

It was possible. Indeed, it seemed almost prophetical that the first time they received a note with an actual place for her to hand herself over to them that she would be the one to find it. If this village was specifically targeted because she just happened to be nearby... then the fear in the people's eyes, every tear she'd wiped away, that was because of her.

The note crumpled in her fist. Anger burned in the back of her throat, her hands trembled with it, small branches of lightning sparked at her fingertips. Balling her fists tighter she fought for control of her temper. Breathing through her nose until she felt in control.

If The Believers were targeting places in her vicinity then she needed to leave the area immediately. Dusting her hands off on her leathers she tucked the note into her pocket. They needed to return to Skyhold, and she needed to prepare to head to the meeting place The Believers had chosen. Cullen wasn't going to be happy, she thought with a wince, but what choice did they have?

 

She rehearsed the conversation she would have with Cullen multiple times on the trip back to Skyhold. They'd split The Bulls Chargers up, leaving some to take the place of the still-missing scouts, and some to escort the refugees to Haven. Ellana pushed the rest of her small party hard, not daring to stay in the same place for a moment longer than was strictly necessary to let their mounts rest. She hadn't told the others about the new information on the latest note, she owed it to Cullen to discuss it with him first. She was sure they knew something about the latest village was troubling her, besides the obvious of course, Bull especially kept sending meaningful looks in her direction, but she kept them at such a pace that he never got chance to ask. They reached Skyhold in record time.

Cullen was in the training yard with some recruits and had his back to them when they rode through the main gates. He turned to face them and caught her eye, she saw his expression shift; he always could read her perfectly. If expression she'd been wearing was enough to make Bull wary, then to Cullen it would be as though she'd rode into Skyhold waving a flag.

“Bull?” she asked, catching the qunari's large arm as he came up beside her, “Can you grab everyone for a meeting?”

“Sure thing, Boss. Do you want your usual bringing up?”

“Not The Den.” she said quickly, realising she wanted room to pace. They could barely swing a dead nug in The Den, let alone give her space to work off her useless energy, “Can you and Varric find some bullshit excuse to clear everyone out of the Gain Hall?”

“No problem. Varric's the king of bullshit excuses.”

“Thanks. I won't be long.”

“Hmm,” Bull mused, catching her stormy expression before looking over to see Cullen marching toward them, “Look Boss, you're pissed, I get that, but take it easy on Cullen, alright? He worries about you, he's not the only one.” Before she could respond he'd moved away, heading for the stables with Krem, and Cullen was frowning up at her,

“What happened? Where are the scouts?”

“We didn't find them. There's more, we need to talk.”

 

 


	13. Sacrifice.

Ellana took a deep breath as she and Cullen made their silent way up the steps to his office, in through the nose and out through the mouth. It was supposed to be cleansing, soothing even, but it wasn't; she winced at the smell, her nose wrinkling up as she ran her tongue over her teeth. The cloying smell of ash and destruction had been cleared from her clothes and hair by the cool wind in the mountain paths, but it lingered still in the back of her nose and throat. She rolled her eyes at herself, she did not need another reminder of what had happened at Sulchers Pass. The faces of the people they'd found swam behind her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes, each time accompanied by a sickening lurch of her stomach.

She saw Cullen look over at her, his expression wary, out of the corner of her eye. She kept her eyes forward, she had to or else falter; the desire to wash that wariness away was almost overwhelming.

 _One smile, one kiss, is all it would take,_ she thought.

Her fingers tingled with the want to just take his hand, to wrap herself up in his warmth and never wavering confidence. She felt her lips twist bitterly, The Believers had stolen even that.

She pushed the thought, and her own desires, away firmly. What she wanted didn't matter. She had a responsibility; to every person in each of the five villages, and to every village that would be attacked if they did nothing.

It was bigger than her. She had to be The Inquisitor now; authoritative, in control.

Cullen dismissed the soldiers stationed around his office and pulled the heavy ring of keys from his belt. He looked tired, she realised. The dark circles around his eyes and the coarse dusting of stubble on his cheeks spoke of nights with little sleep. Ellana felt a new twist of guilt in her stomach; Cullen worried about her, he always did, and what she was about to say was not going to lighten his burden.

 _That's The Believers fault,_ she reminded herself, _focus the anger, direct it where it belongs._

She shook her head firmly as Cullen swung the door open for her to pass through before him. She took another deep breath and prepared herself as best she could for the ensuing argument that was bound to follow the revelation of her plan.

 

Cullen knew that look, in fact, he _hated_ that look. It was her 'we're doing this my way, no arguments' look. Her 'get the people out of Haven while I distract the magister demi-God' look. The look that never failed to tighten his chest and turn his stomach to a lead weight. He really, _really_ , hated that look.

He watched as she strode straight-backed and square-shouldered to the other side of his desk and, without a word, pulled the map from its spot and rolled it out onto his desk. With two harsh swipes of a pen she slashed an X through a small settlement near The Hinterlands.

Cullen closed his eyes on a groan, “Five?”

“Five.” she bit out, her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat, grinding her teeth together and jutting her chin out. He wanted to comfort her, to pull her against his chest, her small hands fisting in his fur mantle as she buried her face in the side of his neck. Ellana would welcome it, but he wasn't dealing with Ellana, this was all Inquisitor Lavellan. Her eyes didn't leave his, her gaze steady and sure. Cullen knew, _just knew_ , she was prepared for an argument. Since there was only one thing they ever really disagreed about, Cullen had a damn good idea where this conversation was going; she had some Maker forsaken suicidal plan in mind. Again.

He swallowed, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck and, instead, squared his own shoulders, placed a hand on the pommel of his sword and waited for her to speak.

After a few seconds of tense silence she pulled a dog-eared piece of parchment from her belt and placed it on his desk, turning it so he could read it. Frequent readings of the note had turned what had once been a tightly rolled scroll into a flat piece of paper with barely a curl at the edges.

Her fingers trembled slightly, whether from the tension that had suddenly filled the room, or anger at The Believers, Cullen wasn't quite sure. She balled her hands into fists and crossed her arms, hiding the hands that always gave away so much more of how she was really feeling than her Inquisitor mask ever did. Cullen gave the note a passing glance, the same six words they'd seen four times already – wait. His gaze jumped back to the paper, and he picked it up to get a better look; this note was different from the others, written in small text at the bottom was a series of numbers. Coordinates, he realised, along with a date and a time. 'Come alone' was written underneath.

Cullen felt his stomach turn over, now he knew what the defiant look was all about.

“What's this?” he asked, already knowing the answer,

“That's a cabin on the cliffs of The Storm Coast.” her voice was firm, determined. A thousand miles away from the woman who'd sighed and smiled gently when he'd loosened her hair in the chantry at Haven, “It'll only take me an hour on foot from one of our camps to get there.”

And there it was. The suicidal plan. He'd known it was coming, but that didn't stop the small spike of panic he felt at her saying it aloud.

“You're not seriously thinking of going?” Cullen asked, unable to keep the note of incredulity out of his voice even though he already knew that her mind was made up,

“I am.” she replied with a single, hard nod, “This is the best opportunity we've had to stop The Believers.”

“For The Makers sake Ellana, have you completely lost your mind? Think about this for -”

“I have thought about it, I've got a plan; I'll go to the meeting place then, when The Believers take me to their base, a few scouts follow us and report the location back to Skyhold. It'll work.”

“ _That's_ your plan?!” he asked, eyes wide and dismay colouring his voice. Strategy was always more his strength than hers, but even for her this was insane, “That is not a plan, that's — that's — ” he was almost sputtering trying to convey how ridiculous her so-called plan was, “That's just going along with it and hoping for the best.”

Ellana turned from him, starting to pace his small office, trying to work off her frantic energy while running both hands over her hair to brace the back of her neck. Sitting still was never something she was very good at, patience as a virtue was completely lost on her. Under normal circumstances, Cullen sympathised; more, it was something they had in common. Both of them were people of action, never content to be still when there was something to be done, people to help. But these were _not_ normal circumstances, and he was perfectly willing to let patience be as virtuous as it liked as long as it meant her survival.

They would find a way to stop The Believers, if he had to go door-to-door at every dwelling in Thedas, they'd find them. But not like this.

“Do you think it a coincidence?” she asked, “That they just _happened_ to choose a village at Sulchers Pass, mere spitting distance from where we were? This village,” she dropped her hands from the back of her neck to point at the map, “This tiny village of innocent people was targeted because I was there. For all we know, Leliana's scouts were taken just to draw me there. I can't let this stand.” She planted both fists firmly on her hips, one leg started to bounce up and down as she fought to maintain her Inquisitor mask,

“All the more reason not to go.” he urged, silently begging her to see reason, “They're goading you, making you angry so you'll go right to them.”

_Maker, she'll be the death of me._

“It doesn't matter why they've done it. Don't you see? If anything that just makes it worse. It's my job to put a stop to it.”

“And it's my job to keep you alive. It's too dangerous. We've discussed this already, nothing has changed.”

“ _Everything_ has changed!” Ellana shouted, the last of her composure shattering as she jabbed herself in the chest with a thumb hard enough to make him wince, “You didn't see it, I did. I had to look those people in the eye as they stood in the husks of their burned-out homes, with the bodies of their loved ones still smoking on the pyre. I fed them platitude after damn platitude; that I was sorry, that we are doing everything we can, all the while knowing that it's a fucking lie.”

“We _are_ doing everything we can.”

“No, we're not. We know exactly how to put a stop to this.”

The note crumpled into a ball in his fist. A mixture of anger and panic began to prickle at the back of his neck, despite his best efforts to remain calm, “You're going to put a stop to it by walking unarmed and alone into an enemy stronghold and giving The Believers exactly what they want?”

“We'll be followed by lookouts the entire time, they'll report my location back to Skyhold and The Inquisition can launch an attack.”

“And what if the scouts lose your trail? Or the message doesn't get back to Skyhold? Or The Believers spot them and take them out? What if The Believers don't take you to their base at all? If they go straight to The Breach? What happens then?” he barely noticed that his voice had raised in volume on almost every question,

“We'll find a way, we'll improvise.”

“Oh, improvise.” he said, his tone caught somewhere between sarcastic and annoyed, “Yes, of course, that always works out.” he took a deep breath and forced his voice into a more reasonable volume, “If you need to use the word improvise in your plan, then you're not doing it right. If they find some way to force you to open The Breach -”

“I _can't_ open The Breach.”

“No, but you _can_ open a rift into the fade. They can still use the anchor to enter the fade physically.” She didn't reply, just tilted her chin up with that defiant look that made him want to shake her. She wouldn't open The Breach again even if she could, and she'd set herself on fire before allowing The Believers to enter the fade physically, and they both knew it, “It's too dangerous.” he finished, returning her look and trying his best to keep his voice level,

“In Redcliffe -”

“In Redcliffe, we knew what we were up against, we had a rough idea of Venatori numbers, we had agents inside the castle and half a regiment of soldiers disguised as villagers outside, and it still went wrong. This is nothing like Redcliffe, there are too many unknowns. We don't have enough information. It's. Too. Dangerous.” he said again,

“Five villages, Cullen! Five fucking villages!” she replied, her voice just verging on a shout, as she pointed back at the map. He threw his hands up in exasperation, beginning to pace himself just to try to keep a hold on his temper. He couldn't believe she was doing this, _again!_ That she was doing this to _him_ again. How many times could he watch her throw herself into a suicide mission? What was it about Ellana that thought throwing herself into traps was a good idea?

“I highly doubt you winding up dead is going to help.” he snapped back,

“Oh? And what would you have me do?”

“Not walk into an obvious trap! That would be a fantastic start.”

“It's necessary!”

“It's suicide!”

“There's an entire valley down there filled with people that have lost everything.”

“That is _not_ your fault.”

“Well it feels like it. How many villages are we willing to sacrifice while we try to scrape information together on The Believers? If any more sacrifices are to be made then I -”

Rounding on her, Cullen slammed his fist down on the desk, sending small objects scattering across the floor, “Sacrifice?! You want to talk about sacrifice? The avalanche at Haven, the fade at Adamant, Corypheus lifting half the valley into the fucking sky. Three times I've watched you die!” he shouted, his voice cracking on the last word, “Do you think it's easy to watch you throw yourself at death again and again? I know _exactly_ how much you are willing to sacrifice.”

Ellana just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

 _Shit_.

He turned away, throwing the balled up note into a corner and running his hand over the back of his neck. The anger drained out of him, and he realised how hard his heart was beating, his lungs working like bellows. Somehow the silence managed to seem louder than their shouting. Before he could think of what to say, slender arms wrapped around him from behind, her hands on his chest, and he felt her head rest against his back,

“Cullen, I -” she whispered into the back of his coat,

“Don't, just -” he sighed, “Just don't.” he turned and Ellana slipped her arms over his shoulders, and she buried her face in the side of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her very real, very alive, back and breathed in the scent of her hair. After a few moments he felt his heart-rate start to return to normal, and he pulled back to drop his forehead onto hers, “I can't do it again.”

“You won't have to. I'm sorry. We'll find another way, I won't put you through that again.” she said. Cullen felt the last of the tension leave his shoulders as he sighed in relief, “But it does beg the question, what are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” keeping his forehead pressed against hers, he brushed the stubborn lock of silver hair that could never behave itself behind her ear before sweeping his thumb across her cheek, “But whatever it is, we do it together.” She bit her lower lip, and it took a few seconds for Cullen to realise she was trying very hard not to laugh,

“That was really cheesy.” she grinned, shoulders beginning to shake with barely suppressed mirth,

“Alright, that's it,” he dead-panned, pulling away, “You killed it, you killed the mood.”

“I happen to like cheesy.”

“It's too late for that, I'm deeply offended, I may never -” she shut him up very effectively by grabbing the front of his fur mantle and raising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips,

“Dirty tactics.” he muttered, before tugging her closer for another kiss.

With a reluctant sigh, he let her go to pick up the crumpled note from the corner. He flattened it out on his way back to the desk before placing it on the wooden surface.

Ellana stepped up next to him, hands on her hips, “What do _you_ think we should do?” she asked.

Cullen frowned down at the note, “We don't need them to lead us to their base, we just need one member of The Believers to tell us where it is. We have an army at our disposal, I say we use them.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, half her mouth pulled up in a smile, “Alright Commander, what do you have in mind?”

 

***

 

“So?” Cullen asked, glancing up at her from his seat, “What do you think?”

The desk was littered with scrap paper, small crumpled balls had fallen to the floor around their feet, but they'd finally settled on a plan. They'd had to compromise on a few points, but Cullen was happy with what they'd come up with.

“It's good, I like it.” Ellana nodded, “Not quite suicidal enough for my tastes,” she eyed him with a frown, Cullen glared at her, his glare as fake as her frown, and she smiled at him, “I say we go for it.”

“Thank the Maker.” Cullen sighed dramatically,

“Varric and Bull will have the others waiting for us in the Great Hall, ready to go fill them in?”

“We're meeting in the hall?” Cullen asked, and started to roll the map up to take with them, “How's Varric planning on clearing the nobles out?”

“Oh, I just told him to make something up.” She snatched the note up from his desk and held the door open for him,

“I bet he just loved that.”

 

As promised, the hall was empty of everyone except The Inquisition's inner circle by the time Ellana and Cullen arrived. They were waiting for them towards the back of the hall, near the dais that housed the Inquisitor's throne. Someone had done a drinks run to The Heralds Rest, their usual drinks were waiting for them, as well as platters of breads, cheese and jugs of steaming coffee. The others had set up on a few tables pushed together. Ellana groaned in appreciation when she smelled the coffee and saw the food, Cullen had almost forgotten they'd been on the road virtually non-stop for days.

Judging by their friend's expressions, Cullen guessed that they'd already been told about the latest village, but Ellana had assured him that she hadn't told anyone about the cabin. She'd wanted to discuss it with him first, a wise decision as it turned out.

She briefly explained about the coordinates and passed the note around for the others to see for themselves, before launching into their plan;

“Cullen, Rylen and I will split up at the border to The Storm Coast, I'll continue for the camp closest to the cabin, while Cullen and Rylen head for the Blades of Hessarian headquarters.”

“We'll send a bird ahead to warn the Blades about what's going on,” Cullen continued, he rolled the map out onto the table to show them the exact location of the cabin, “A few Hessarian scouts will be able to watch Ellana's approach of the camp in case The Believers decide to spring their trap early. The remaining Blades, Rylen and I will take up strategic points around the cabin, using the surrounding countryside as camouflage, and lie in ambush.”

“I'll leave the camp later. The cabin is on a cliff, so Cullen's group should have a good view of my approach.” Ellana said, trailing a finger along the route they'd chosen to give the best possible visibility,

“Ellana will enter the cabin, per The Believers instruction.”

“When The Believers turn up and enter the cabin -”

“My troops surround the cabin and strike.”

“Then we bring the surviving members of The Believers back to Skyhold for questioning.”

“Everyone comes home in one piece.”

Ellana held her hand up, without needing to look Cullen slapped their palms together in a high-five. There was a moment of struck silence, before Varric and Sera began to applaud. Ellana did a theatrical little bow before pulling out a chair, sitting down and helping herself to the bread.

“A sound strategy.” Blackwall nodded.

“I could still stand to know a little more about this group.” Leliana said thoughtfully,

“Couldn't we all.” Ellana agreed around a mouthful of food, Josephine looked positively scandalised as Bull and Cullen chuckled, “But we can't let this opportunity pass us by. We'll know more once Dorian -”

“Oh, I do so love a dramatic entrance.” Called a heavily accented voice from the open doors.

“Dorian!” Ellana somehow managed to yell around a mouthful of cheese. She threw herself from her chair and ran at him. Bull bellowed a greeting at his lover from over Cullen's shoulder. Dorian barely had time to raise a deep purple cloaked arm to the qunari before Ellana launched herself at him, he caught her out of the air and into a bone-crushing hug,

“Hello darling,” he laughed, “Did you miss me?”

“You were gone? I didn't even notice.” Ellana replied, as she tightened her grip around his back,

“Good. I didn't miss you either.” Dorian said, his arms so tight around her that her feet were a good six inches off the ground. Cullen watched with a fond smile as Ellana greeted her best friend as though no one could see them. They walked slowly back to rejoin the group, Ellana bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tried to tell Dorian everything that had happened in Skyhold during his absence.

“Maker, Ellana.” Cullen laughed, “Take a breath.” He grasped Dorian's shoulder in greeting, taking Cullen by surprise Dorian shook the hand off, and, instead, pulled him into a tight, one armed hug.

 

***

 

It was like old times in The Den that night. Or, almost.

Cullen was sure it had escaped the other's attention just how little of the fine Tevinter wine Ellana actually drank — twice Cullen had spotted her switch her full glass for one of the empty ones that were scattered around the room — or how little of the food she'd actually eaten. Her mask didn't slip once as she joined in the revelry of the others, laughing along with them. If she laughed a little too loudly at Bull's jokes, or agreed a little too eagerly to arm wrestling with Krem, then Cullen pretended not to see it.

One by one the others dropped out until only he, Ellana and Dorian were left. Ellana closed the door behind a more-than-slightly tipsy Josephine, the instant it was shut all pretence vanished, her shoulders dropped a little, not quite a slouch but enough that Cullen could see the barely concealed exhaustion lying just beneath. She turned and caught him watching her, one side of her mouth pulled up in response to his raised brow and Cullen shook his head slightly.

 _She can say “I'm fine” without opening her mouth now?_ He thought, but stopped himself from saying the words aloud. Ellana gave his thigh and appreciative little squeeze under the table as she slipped back into her seat.

“I think I'll call it a night myself, actually.” Dorian said, with a yawn that was too large to be genuine, “Bull will be waiting for me, and you know how the big lug gets if -”

“Dor.” Ellana fixed him in place with a look, “Enough stalling, let's have it.” Dorian's feigned surprise was ignored by both of them, “What have you found out that's so bad you don't want to discuss it in front of the others?”

“You, my darling, are far too perceptive.” Dorian said, his gaze skipping almost guiltily away from hers as he poured himself another glass of wine.

“And _you_ are still stalling.” She said, raising an eyebrow at him and taking the bottle to fill hers and Cullen's glasses, this glass she did actually sip at.

“Can't I be in the door for ten minutes before we start trying to save the world again?” Dorian grumbled and raised his glass to his mouth. Ellana caught it half-way, placing her palm on top,

“Dorian....”

“Fine. Fine. Have it your way. But you're going to wish you'd finished your drink, mark my words.” Dorian said with a sigh of resignation. He placed the wine glass back down, and brushed his perfectly shaped black moustache with the side of his thumb, “We were right; The Believers are the last of the Venatori. As I'm sure you both recall, they were the only group to join Corypheus voluntarily, The Grey Wardens and The Templars were both tricked or coerced into serving him. Only my idiot countrymen were foolish enough to blindly follow the darkspawn magister demi-God.” Dorian said with a look of disgust,

“Not all of them, Dor.” Ellana said, reassuringly, “You're not them.”

“I know, and so do they. It isn't as though I can forget, they're so very eager to remind me, you see.”

“That wasn't what I meant.”

“I know, Ell. Ignore my maudlin attitude, Tevinter has that effect on me, I'll be back to my usual sparkling self in no time. But we were talking about The Believers, weren't we? Their well-thought-out and ingenious plan is to get you to re-open The Breach in the hopes it will bring Corypheus back, or, failing that, they'll enter the fade themselves to continue his plan to sunder the veil, you know, as you do.” He said blithely, twirling his fingers around, “They're desperate and foolish, not what I'd call a winning combination.”

“That's not exactly the bad news we were expecting, Dorian.” Cullen said, relief flooding through him. As ridiculous as The Believers' plan was, they had already surmised as much themselves. He'd been expecting much worse.

“I. Can't. Open. The. Breach.” Ellana said slowly, punctuating each word with a sharp rap of her knuckles on the table, “And even if I could, I wouldn't. How many more times do I need to say it?”

“At least once more it seems.” Cullen chuckled,

“Maybe this crisis can be averted with nothing more than a strongly worded letter: Dear bad guys, that isn't how the anchor works. Sincerely, The Inquisition.” Ellana laughed.

“Ah, well you see, you didn't let me finish.” Dorian interjected, Cullen's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. Dorian actually sounded nervous, Cullen didn't think he'd ever seen Dorian be anything other than totally self-assured. His relief vanished in a heartbeat, “They have a plan to force you to do whatever they want, including attempt to re-open The Breach.”

“But -”

“Ell darling, you won't even argue. The Circle isn't something the magisters of Tevinter usually try to imitate, for obvious reasons. Apparently, the Venatori have made an exception, lucky us.”

“What? I don't understand, what does this have to do with the Circle? Suppressing my magic won't give them control of the anchor. Are they planning on locking me up in a tower?” The end of her statement was laced with humour, Cullen saw her glance his way out of the corner of his eye, as though expecting him to join her amusement.

Cullen wasn't feeling particularly amused.

A shiver raced up his spine, settling in the base of his neck.

Dorian's gaze met his over the table, one half of his mouth tipped up into an apologetic parody of a smile. The smile did nothing to clear the dread that Cullen could read in the mages grey eyes.

Goosebumps lifted on Cullen's arms. He had a terrible feeling that he knew _exactly_ what part of the Circle The Believers had imitated.

_Oh shit. Yes. This is worse. This is much, much worse._

To think he'd once considered it a compromise, even a blessing in some cases.

“What? What am I missing?” Ellana asked, her confused gaze flipping between her lover and her best friend.

Dorian looked down at the surface of the table, and didn't seem inclined to look back up.

No one liked to be the bearer of bad news; never had that phrase rung truer.

Cullen coughed to clear his throat, even so, his voice was barely over a murmur when he spoke,

“They're going to make you tranquil.”

“Oh.” Ellana said, she downed the rest of her wine in one gulp, “Well, shit

 


	14. Come alone.

Ellana glanced down at the beach from where she, Cullen and Rylen sat atop their mounts on the edge of a high cliff. Views of the ocean were said to be calming, it wasn't doing anything to calm any of them today. Harsh waves crashed against the shore, even from their cliff they could hear the sound of the surf.

Ellana eyed the small path that would take her and Mr Tiddles down to the stony beach, Cullen and Rylen would be staying on their current path and heading for the base of The Blades of Hessarian. Rylen was a little further down that path waiting for Cullen, keeping lookout he'd said, giving them a few moments privacy was what he'd meant. Ellana was grateful.

It was a good plan, solid.

 _We'll stop The Believers today_ , she told herself firmly. _No more village attacks, no more scouts or soldiers will go missing, and they'll never get the chance to make me_ — she swallowed and tried to stop the thought dead in its tracks.

Cullen shifted in his saddle next to her, the creak of the stiff leather pulled Ellana out of her thoughts. Her mind had been continuously pulled back to the conversation they'd had with Dorian in The Den since they'd left Skyhold.

_They're going to make you tranquil._

Those few words echoed in her mind. She suppressed a shudder at the thought and turned to look at Cullen,

“You don't need to do this, you know that.” he said, concern causing a crease to appear between his brows,

 _Is that the fourth time he's told me that, or the fifth?_ She wondered.

Cullen seemed to have become more nervous and tense with every step they'd taken. Now they'd arrived at the boarder to The Storm Coast he seemed to be on the verge of throwing her over his shoulder and heading back to Skyhold.

Ellana refused to acknowledge the small part of her that wanted him to.

“Yes, I do.” she replied automatically, the same reply she'd given every other time he'd mentioned it, she gave him a warm smile to take the sting out of her tone. She let go of the reins with one hand and used her thumb to rub the crease between his brows until it vanished, “It's going to be fine. I can follow the beach all the way to camp.”

“You'll never get the signal fire going in this rain.” Cullen muttered. The miserable weather was not helping his mood, his soggy fur mantle weighed down his shoulders and the constant rain had reduced visibility. Ellana didn't think she's ever seen The Storm Coast in any weather that wasn't rain,

“You just don't like what it's doing to your hair.” she teased, earning herself a scowl. His usual wavy blonde hair had turned into tight curls in the rain, she brushed one of the curls off his forehead, “I'm a mage, remember? I don't need it to be dry to make fire. Watch for the smoke, I'll -”

“Light it as soon as you arrive, so we'll know they didn't spring the trap early, I know.” he said, a little of his dry humour peeking through when he rolled his eyes, “I picked up on it the first twenty times we went over the plan.”

“Sorry, I'm -”

“Nervous?”

_Very._

“Blathering.” she said instead, before shooing them, “Now go on, if they spot us it won't matter if I can get the fire going or not.”

Cullen turned his mount around but paused as he came alongside her. His hand slipped past her sodden hair to the back of her neck. He brought his lips to her brow before leaning forward to press his forehead against hers,

“You'll be fine.” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing, a million miles away from the commanding boom that echoed around the training ring. She sank her hands into the damp fur of his mantle, allowing herself to grip it tightly in her fists for a moment, let herself feel her fear for just a few seconds before she answered,

“I know.”

“That was more for me than for you.” he huffed, “We're here, we're safe, and I'll never let them hurt you.”

She laughed a little as he flipped the words she normally said to him back at her, but she played her part, “How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

It shouldn't have worked, it was a mantra designed to keep metaphorical demons away, not real, physical threats. But work it did; she did feel a little better.

He brushed the rain from her lips with a thumb before kissing her firmly. She closed her eyes and savoured the feel of his mouth on hers before all too soon they were forced to part. She watched them turn to head down the path before turning Mr Tiddles in the other direction and letting him pick his own way down the cliff to the beach.

The nug's oddly human hands could handle the stones a lot easier than the hooves of the horses. The spirited little mare she'd been riding the first time she'd been at The Storm Coast to meet Bull had almost sent the pair of them flying when she'd slipped on the wet stones. Just thinking about that meeting made her smile, she'd been so intimidated by Bull when they'd first met. He was the first qunari she'd ever seen, and he was just so large. The mountain of a man was a lot more gentle than his appearance would lead a person to believe, so it was hardly surprising. When he'd opened his mouth she'd expected a dragon-like roar, the almost soothing way he'd spoken had taken her aback. But that was Bull in a nutshell really; in battle he was a dragon, when he was with those he trusted he was gentle.

 _I could really use some of that intimidation right now,_ she thought as she eyed the cliff to her left warily.

They'd chosen this route intentionally, so she'd have the shore to her right and long sight lines to her front and rear. It would make an ambush more difficult.

If there was anything she was good at, it was feigning confidence, but right now it was harder than usual. She could bluster all she like, it didn't change the fact that it was a lie.

_Why did it have to be tranquillity?_

Anything else wouldn't have posed a problem; she'd have much preferred a threat on her life. The threat of death had been hanging over her since she'd stumbled out of the fade at the Temple of Sacred Ashes; she was used to that. Death she was fine with, tranquillity on the other hand... that was another matter entirely.

They reached a narrow part of the beach, the cliffs overhanging their path. As though he could read her thoughts, Mr Tiddles rumbled a growl, puffing his chest out a little to make himself larger. She rubbed his neck, he blew out his lips and muttered at her in the endearing way he did but kept on alert, his little ears flicking around as he listened for movements.

She knew The Blades would be watching their progress from wherever they were hiding but the uneasiness she was feeling wouldn't go away. She'd be extremely grateful once they reached the camp.

 

As per her instructions, the camp was abandoned when she got to it, after ten minutes of waiting she wished she'd given different orders. Sitting on her hands for hours was giving her too much time to think.

Tranquillity.

She shuddered despite the campfire. She'd only heard tales of the tranquil while she'd been with her clan, and they'd been terrifying enough. If she was honest she hadn't even fully believed it was true; she'd half suspected it was a tale told by the Keeper to ensure she kept her distance from the Templars whenever they passed a human settlement. She hadn't actually met one until she'd joined The Inquisition. The poor souls that had been sundered from the fade, devoid of emotion, dreams and magic. It both sickened and terrified her to just think of it. The tranquil she'd met around Skyhold had been pleasant, polite but... empty. She couldn't imagine having to live her life like that. The loss of her magic was one thing, but to lose her emotions? The very thing that made her _her?_ She couldn't lose that.

The option had been offered to her to make Erimond tranquil when she'd judged him for his crimes, for his desecration of The Grey Wardens. She hadn't taken it. She'd executed him. Most had thought this the more cruel of the punishments open to her, she disagreed.

The time felt three times its real length. She'd unpacked and repacked her satchel half a dozen times, checked her stock of potions and paced that particular stretch of beach, picking it clean of spindleweed as she went. Finally, it was time to leave and head to the cabin. She kicked some dirt over her campfire, and glanced around to make sure she hadn't left anything behind before turning to the path. Mr Tiddles bumped her in the small of her back with his nose,

“Oh no you don't, you're staying here.” He tilted his head to one side and gave her a reproachful look, “I don't know why you and Cullen don't get along. You have so much in common.” She gave him a few of the sugar lumps and pine nuts she had stashed in her pocket before giving him a scratch behind his ears, “Now sit and stay. I'll be back in a few hours.”

 

Ellana didn't look too closely into the shadows and trees around the cabin, she didn't want to alert anyone that might be watching, but a quick glance around didn't reveal anyone. She knew Cullen, Rylen and The Blades were here somewhere, but they'd hidden themselves well. With one hand already halfway to her staff, she pushed open the cabin door and stepped inside.

 

***

 

It had been far too long. Cullen's legs were cramped from crouching behind the brush. He had no idea what was taking so long. The rain had finally, mercifully, ceased and the sun had crept across the sky as the hours had ticked by. In the time they had been waiting nothing more dangerous than a curious bear had wandered through the clearing. There was neither hide nor hair of the people that had lured them out here. Had they realised the trap had been laid and opted to stay away? If that was the case then why hadn't Ellana emerged from the cabin yet? How long were they expected to wait? Glancing around the clearing he could see The Blades, carefully positioned to be hidden from prying eyes. Some in trees, others hidden in the long grass or virtually invisible in the shadows of boulders. No, he was fairly sure they hadn't been seen. So what had gone wrong?

Rylen was on the other side of the clearing, Cullen caught the man's eye and raised a questioning brow at him, Rylen shrugged, just as clueless as Cullen. After a moments thought he made his mind up. He caught Rylen's eye again, this time gesturing towards the cabin, Rylen nodded before drawing his sword. Cullen circled to the left, Rylen to the right, as they slowly and quietly crept up to the door. Cullen paused, hand on the door knob and took a deep breath. With one fluid motion he pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, sword at the ready.

He needn't have bothered.

The sight that greeted them hit him with enough force to almost knock his legs out from under him.

Only one person was in the cabin.

Or, more accurately, only one living person.

Ellana knelt in the middle of the floor. Seven of The Inquisitions scouts were laid out before her, their eyes closed and arms crossed respectfully over their chests. Seven frayed pieces of rope dangled from a beam over her head.

Ellana didn't turn to look at them. Instead, she slid a piece of paper across the floor.

The print was large enough that Cullen could read it,

 

**We said come alone.**

 

For a moment Cullen was completely incapable of thought. His pulse thudded thickly in his throat, the fuzz of white noise filled his ears. All he could do was read those four words over and over.

His eyes flew back up to those seven pieces of rope that hung from the ceiling. Rope that had been roughly cut by the same dagger that had been driven into the beam in a pique of anger; driven with enough force to leave it buried to the hilt. How Ellana had found the strength to lift those seven bodies down by herself was anyone's guess.

A wet sniff brought him back to his senses,

“Keep everyone outside.” Cullen muttered to Rylen. Rylen left without a word, pulling the cabin door closed quietly behind him, leaving them in the semi darkness.

Cullen's fists clenched and unclenched impotently at his sides. A strange combination of grief, guilt and rage curdled in his stomach, he felt sick and light-headed. And completely out of his depth when he looked at the elf on her knees in front of the dead bodies of seven people that had so needlessly lost their lives in service to The Inquisition. What could he possibly say? There were no words that would even come close to helping heal the hurt that he could practically feel coming off her in waves. Or ease the guilt that he knew, _knew_ , she was torturing herself with.

He took a few small, slow steps forward: not at all sure of what he was doing, desperately wanting to comfort her but not sure how. He hadn't figured out what he wanted to say before he reached her side, and sank slowly to his knees next to her. She'd folded in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, shoulders rounded and her chin on her chest. Even in the dim light he could see the tear-tracks down her face, her eyes red and puffy from crying. He reached out a tentative hand to rest on her leg, he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't smack it away. She'd all but begged him to let her come here alone, but he'd insisted.

And now here they were.

Seven others had paid the price.

She didn't smack his hand away, instead taking it in her own and wrapping her fingers around his as new tears spilled over her eyelids to course down her cheeks.

 _I've never seen her cry before._ The realisation sent a new, unwelcome, spike of pain through his chest. He'd known she _did,_ of course, she must have done at some point. But she'd always hidden her grief away, perhaps waiting until he was asleep and venting it on their balcony, or in the bath where she could blame her red face on the steam. Now she shook in silent sobs. He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her into him, pulling her onto his lap while she vented her grief and that damnable guilt she carried around with her into his chest.

Anger eclipsed his own sadness as he looked over the seven fallen soldiers again. Taking in the rope burns around their necks and wrists. The purple, bluish tinge that had taken over their lips. The cheeks that were already starting to look gaunt and hollow. He didn't even know their names. It was perhaps this that angered him most of all.

Ellana would know their names, she always did.

Her sobs gradually turned to wet sniffs, and eventually to silence. If it wasn't for the movement where she twisted the fur of his mantle around and around her fingers he might have thought she'd fallen asleep.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, a stupid question, but he felt the need to say something,

“I will be, once we stop them.” she answered, her voice rough and hoarse.

She extricated herself from his arms gently, and he helped her to her feet, her legs clumsy and stiff from kneeling so long on the cold floor of the cabin.

Her eyes raked over the bodies of the scouts again before jumping up to meet his; Cullen was afraid he'd see accusation there, this had been _his_ plan after all. It had been him that had come up with the idea of filling the clearing outside with soldiers, that had refused to let her come here alone.

The weight of his guilt came crashing down when he realised that he would make the same decision again if he had to.

There was no accusation in her eyes, just sadness with barely concealed anger bubbling underneath. As though she could read his thoughts Ellana reached out to squeeze his hand,

“They are going to pay for this, I promise.”

They stepped out of the cabin and stopped. Rylen must have told the others what had happened, they were gathered in the clearing waiting for them. Some sat on the grass or boulders, others were pacing restlessly. Ellana's spine immediately straightened, her chin coming up, as she slipped effortlessly back into her Inquisitor mask. Reaching behind them she swung the cabin door open so the others could see inside.

“Seven of our people have been murdered by the group calling themselves The Believers. This will not go unpunished, I swear to you.” Her voice was full of raw emotion but was strong as she met the eyes of the men, “These men will be brought back to Skyhold to receive full honours, but we will not forget what has happened here. We will find those responsible, and justice will be served. A large portion of the blame falls at my own feet, I know that. But this is not the time for accusations, we are The Inquisition, we stand together or not at all.”

Those that had been sitting rose as one by one they saluted her over their chests. She nodded her thanks at them and moved to the side, allowing a few men past to recover the bodies of their fallen allies.

Cullen and Ellana left them to their work, moving a little way down the path.

“So, what's the plan now?” Cullen asked,

“I'll be damned if I know.” Ellana replied, running a hand over her hair. She glanced back toward the cabin as Rylen jogged over to them, Ellana's dagger in his hand.

“Inquisitor.” he said, respectfully as he handed it to her.

“Come on now Rylen, enough of that.”

“Sorry ma'am, old habits die hard.” Rylen winked at her, she rolled her eyes and slipped her dagger into the hidden holder in her boot but a small smile worked its way onto her face. For that smile, as tiny as it was, Cullen knew he'd be buying Rylen's drinks for the rest of his life.

“Come on, let's head back to Skyhold and re-group. We need to tell the others what's happened and make a plan.”

 


	15. What in The Makers name has happened now?

It felt as though Cullen's head had barely touched the pillow when a loud pounding on the bedroom door woke him.

It had been either very late at night or very early in the morning when he, Ellana and Rylen had returned to Skyhold. To nobodies surprise, they found the others waiting up for them in an otherwise abandoned Heralds Rest. Their haste to return to the keep had left the three of them exhausted, and their reports had been interrupted by yawns as they filled the others in on everything that had happened at The Storm Coast, and the latest atrocity performed by The Believers, over a few glasses of warm mulled wine. Cullen had been almost wavering on his feet by the time they were done and he and Ellana could make their way to the main building and their quarters. Barely speaking, they'd fallen gratefully into cool, clean sheets, the pair of them asleep almost instantly.

“Ignore it.” Ellana muttered in response to the knocking, her arm tightening from where it lay draped across his stomach. Cullen hummed his approval of her plan into her hair, she curled closer to his side, her head on his chest.

He'd just allowed his eyes to slide closed again when the pounding returned. With a groan, he lifted Ellana's arm from him and sat up.

“I swear to The Creators, the castle had better be on fire.” she grumbled sleepily as she moved to let him swing his legs off the bed. He chuckled and placed a kiss on her bare shoulder before groping blindly in the moonlit bedroom for his clothes.

The pounding at the door was only getting more insistent as he pulled on trousers and slipped his feet into his boots. Bare-chested, he made his groggy way down the stairs and pulled the door open, ready to tick off whatever scout or messenger had decided this couldn't wait until morning, but came up short when he discovered Leliana on the other side,

 _What in The Makers name has happened now?_ He wondered.

“I was starting to think I might have to pick the lock.” Leliana snapped, her face was set, her garb as meticulous as always, but there was an uncharacteristic harried look around the spy-masters eyes, “Where is The Inquisitor?”

“Where would you expect?” Cullen asked in exasperation, “We have only just returned from The Storm Coast and it's the middle of the night, she's in bed.”

“I have just received an urgent message that you both need to see.”

Cullen took half a step to the side and pulled the door closer to block her path, “Leliana, surely this can -”

“It cannot wait.” she snapped again, before regretting her tone and looking at him in sympathy, “No, I'm sorry Cullen, truly, but it cannot wait.”

With a sigh of resignation, Cullen moved out of the way, holding the door open for her to hurry up the stairs on light steps while he followed behind, muttering curses under his breath.

The sound of their conversation must have travelled up the stairs ahead of them; by the time he and Leliana arrived in their room Ellana was already dressed in leggings and a tunic, her eyes bright and alert. Moonlight shone on silver blonde curls as she hurriedly gathered her hair into a ponytail.

“What happened?” she demanded, reaching down to grab Cullen's own tunic and tossing it over to him.

“Our spies have sighted The Believers, Inquisitor.” Leliana said without preamble. Her spine was ram-rod straight, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Cullen stilled; there was something very wrong here. Ellana glanced briefly over at him, and he saw his confusion mirrored on her face. They'd been waiting for a lead like this for months but, unless he was very much mistaken, Leliana looked as though she was dreading giving them this news. He barely dared to breathe as he waited for the other shoe to drop, “The report comes from a reliable source, they claim to have spotted a large group of them,” Leliana hesitated and her eyes flicked away from Ellana and over to Cullen, her lips pulled into a tight grimace as she rocked slightly on the balls of her feet, “They're marching for South Reach.”

“South Reach?” Ellana asked in alarm, freezing in the process of pulling on one of her boots and startled violet eyes met is equally stunned gaze.

Cold dread settled on Cullen's stomach as Leliana's words sunk in.

South Reach.

“They're going after my family.” his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears, barely over a murmur,

“Leliana, you're sure?” Ellana barked, not taking her eyes from his,

“My agent was able to get close enough to overhear them, I'm sure. Of course, it could be a coincidence that -”

“That they just happened to choose the village my family lives in immediately after we tried to trap them at The Storm Coast? It isn't a coincidence.” Cullen ground out between his clenched teeth. The strength ran out of his legs, and he sank heavily onto the abandoned bed, dropping his forehead onto his hand.

Ellana's and Leliana's rapid exchange of words became background noise as he tried to recall the details of his sister's last letter.

Both of his parents had died within weeks of each other just a few years ago, Maker watch over their souls, and Rosalie had moved to another town, but Mia and Branson, his other siblings, still resided with their families in South Reach.

Cullen closed his eyes, his brow furrowed, as he tried to recall what Mia had written. Her husband and Branson had made their annual trip to Denerim with that years yield of pelts and leathers. Mia had been planning to make the trip with them, but her two youngest children had taken ill a few days before their departure, and she had decided to remain home to care for them. Her husband had been reluctant to leave her alone, but she'd insisted he help Brandon and the older children. After all, The Believers had only targeted small settlements with no chantry. South Reach didn't have Templars, but it was still a much larger town than anything The Believers had attacked before, so he'd gone, and now... Maker, she was alone with just the two smallest children. A niece and nephew he'd never even met.

“Where are The Believers now?” Ellana asked,

“South of Lothering,” Leliana answered, “They're on foot.”

“Then we can still catch them.”

“Who do you want to take with you?”

“Everyone, wake the whole damn keep if you have to. We're The Inquisition, we're family. The Believers are about to get a very hard lesson on not fucking with our family.” Ellana snapped,

“Oh, erm, yes Inquisitor.” Leliana stammered slightly, she wasn't accustomed to being spoken to in such a way by Ellana, none of them were,

“We meet in the courtyard in twenty minutes.”

Leliana nodded and hurried from the room. Cullen hadn't even heard the door close behind her before Ellana was on her knees in front of him. Small, warm hands cupped his jaw,

“Cullen, it's going to be alright.”

“Mia has the two youngest there, and — one from every household,” he whispered. He hadn't seen any of the burned out villages for himself, he hadn't seen the funeral pyres, or the destroyed homes, but his imagination did a commendable job of filling in the blanks, “Maker, one from every family.” Unbidden, the image of his sisters warm, brown eyes flashed in his mind. The way she'd encouraged him when he was a small boy desperate to join the Templars, always pushing him to do better, bribing their other siblings to do his chores so he had more time to practice. One from every household — _Maker, I haven't seen them in years — I should have made more of an effort, I should have -_

“Hey, look at me.” The pressure on his jaw increased until he forced his gaze up to meet hers, “I know what you're thinking, and that's not going to happen.” Ellana said firmly,

“It's my fault. The trap at The Storm Coast was my idea, I brought this down on them. If one of them dies because of me -” a lump of emotion in his throat stopped him from finishing the sentence,

“You know that isn't true, this is not your fault.”

“But -”

“No buts, Rutherford. Screw the spies, the nobles and the intrigue. We're The Inquisition, we stop the bad guys, it's what we do.”

“They're my family,” he whispered, “They're all I have.”

“Not _all,_ ma vhenan. If I have to personally slaughter every member of The Believers, then that's what I'll do. I swear, they will not lay a hand on your family.”

Cullen didn't think he'd seen her quite so angry since returning from the fade at Adamant. Her normally restless hands were firm on his face, her expression fixed and determined, without a shadow of doubt.

_We're here, we're safe, and I'll never let them hurt you._

“How would you stop them?” he asked, not realising he was going to say the words aloud until he heard them leave his throat,

“However I had to.” her thumbs swept across his cheeks, “I'm going to get very creative. The Believers will regret ever hearing of South Reach.”

Something feral and dangerous was dancing in her eyes, the fires of rage barely held in check. If Cullen had been feeling even slightly more generous, then he might have felt a twinge of pity for The Believers. As it was, all he felt was a cold resolve come over him. Righteous anger taking the edge off the worry he felt on behalf of his family. She somehow always knew what he needed. His gaze didn't drop from hers as he laid his forehead on hers,

“Alright.” he said, not having to fake the strength in his voice,

“That's what I like to hear.” She gave him a few seconds of quiet, his forehead pressed tightly to hers, before she tilted her face up to kiss him firmly, “Think you can hold your shit together enough to take care of some of the heavy lifting?”

“I said alright,” he huffed, thinking it a part miracle that there was something even close to humour in his voice, “I think you can back off on the tough-love a bit.”

She dropped her hands from his jaw and onto his shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze, “Then get your gear, and let's go end this.”

 

The courtyard was chaos when Cullen and Ellana emerged outside. Torches blazed in the pre-dawn light as messengers, stable-hands and people of every rank and file ran backwards and forwards,

“Wow, she took my “everyone” order really literally.” Ellana muttered,

“Indeed.”

“Alright, game faces. We can do this.”

Cullen took a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic he was feeling for his family into the pit of his stomach and slipped into the confidence and surety of his commander mask, Ellana falling into her Inquisitor one at his side.

They strode down the steps from the main doors to Skyhold as one, spines straight and chins held high: commanding respect and oozing authority. The men and women hurrying across the cobbles stopped to salute them as they passed. Calmness and confidence followed in their wake, spreading from them as ripples across a pond.

The others were grouped together in front of The Heralds Rest, they looked alert and tense, despite the hour and their own lack of sleep. Cullen left the steps to join them, Dorian patted him on the shoulder in quiet solidarity as Cullen stepped next to him. Ellana halted two steps from the bottom to address their friends,

“I'm assuming Leliana has briefed you all, so I'll make this quick. For the first time we're one step ahead, and that's fine. We only need one step, one time; we're not going to need a second one, this ends now. The Believers have been killing innocent people to blackmail us. Civilians. They're cowardly, gutless opportunists that target families. Well, they haven't met a family like ours before. They have no mercy, so neither will we.”

Angry cheers answered her words, and stable-hands started appearing with their mounts.

Leliana approached them again as Ellana was swinging herself into the saddle of her battle nug,

“I've sent word ahead to South Reach,” Leliana said, “The bird will arrive before you, so they'll have some warning. Maker willing, they'll be able to hold on until you get there.”

“Good. My clan? Josie's family?”

“I'll send birds to them too. Don't worry, Inquisitor, everyone will be warned.”

“Thank you, Leliana. Rylen will follow behind us with the troops. I'll send word when we arrive.”

“I'll be watching for the bird. Good hunting, Inquisitor.”

With a clatter of various hooves, they galloped through the gates an into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter this week, sorry! I broke it up in the only place that made sense. To anyone still reading this, thank you! You have my undying gratitude.


	16. Let them come.

They pushed their mounts harder as the village of South Reach came into view. There was not yet a tell-tale orange haze against the darkening sky, no scent of smoke brought to them on the wind. Cullen had been fuelled by the vision of smoke billowing from thatched roofs, of wooden doors and window frames collapsing under the heat and trapping residents inside. But no fires yet raged. Maybe they weren't too late after all.

It wasn't until they got closer that Cullen could hear the voices. A confusing jumble of shouts and screams.

Urging yet more speed out of his horse, he flew through the village gates with Ellana right beside him, and was immediately engulfed in the chaos.

It must have been raining hard over the last few days, his horse's hooves slipped in the mud as he brought them to a sliding halt.

It seemed that Leliana's warning had reached the people. The villagers were armed, and it looked as though most were defending the small village chantry, its heavy wooden doors closed tight against the invaders. People with bows were on balconies and leaning out of the second-floor windows of the small houses, but they could only hold out for so long. They were farmers, not soldiers.

The square in front of the chantry was teaming with Believer warriors and rogues, massively outnumbering the villagers they were engaging. The locals were only armed with an assortment of daggers, swords and chipped wooden shields. Most weren't wearing armour, those that did were outfitted in nothing more than ill-fitting boiled leather.

A nearby warrior, wielding a huge broadsword, was advancing upon a blonde woman, she carried just a pair of rusty looking daggers. Cullen swung his horse in their direction. He threw himself from his mount before it had even stopped moving, half-falling and half-launching himself shield first at the warrior. He hit the warrior with a considerable amount of force, sending him toppling to the ground and breaking Cullen's fall.

The woman pushed blonde hair out of her face and startled brown eyes found his.

 _Of course, she's right in the thick of it,_ he thought, _and of course, hers is the first face I see._

“Hello, Mia.”

“Cullen! You came?”

“Of course,” he replied, pushing his sister behind him as he lunged at a new warrior that was advancing upon them. He felt the warm tingle of Ellana's magic settle on his shoulders as she threw her barrier spell over them.

She dismounted her battle nug with slightly more grace than he had. The nug stomped his oddly human-shaped hands into the soft mud, looking at her expectantly,

“Oh go on then,” she told him, giving him an indulgent pat on the nose, “But be careful, and stay out of the line of fire.”

With a happy sounding little snicker, Mr Tiddles charged at a Believer archer, chasing the rogue behind some houses and out of sight. Lightning crackled in Ellana's palms, it arched into the air, freezing the nearest enemies in place,

“You brought The Inquisitor?” Mia squeaked,

“Nice to meet you!” Ellana called over her shoulder with a grin, as she felled one of the frozen enemies with her spirit blade.

“But she's -” Mia was staring at Ellana with her mouth slightly agape,

“Completely insane? Has little to no self-preservation instinct? Is just ridiculously short?” Cullen punctuated each question with a barrage of attacks at the warrior he was fighting, “I know,” he said, as the warrior fell at his feet, and he turned to smile fondly in Ellana's direction, “But you'll get used to it.”

“Oh hush, you love it.” Ellana chided playfully, Cullen winked at her before turning back to Mia, whose gape had only widened at the exchange,

“Makers breath,” Mia said in surprise, “You do.”

Cullen barely had time to roll his eyes before the pounding of hoof-beats rumbled the ground, heralding the arrival of their friends. The Believers fell back to the outskirts of the village to re-group as the others dismounted, drew their weapons and fanned out across the square.

Cullen saw Ellana glance up at the windows and balconies, at the people that had fought bravely with the limited supplies they had, just to hold out until The Inquisition arrived. He saw her notice their exhaustion, their fear. She slipped her staff smoothly into its harness on her back, held her arms out wide, lightning danced at her fingertips, it crackled around her hair and split the sky as she turned to face the chantry,

“Inquisition!” she called, her voice loud and commanding. She stalked up and down their line, her long leather coat and silvery hair snapping in the wind while the lightning arched from her hands dramatically. 'Inspirational bullshit', she'd have called it, but right then she looked every bit the legend minstrels would sing about. _Maker, she's good at this,_ Cullen thought, _and probably loving every second of it,_ “Form up! Varric, Sera, Dorian set up on the chantry steps. Cole and Bull take my left, Blackwall and Krem you're on my right. Cullen and I have the middle. All civilians clear the square and head to the chantry, Inquisition we protect the chantry at all costs.”

“Cullen, I want to help.” Mia said, grasping his arm in a surprisingly tight grip,

“Mia-” he started,

“This is my home,”

Cullen turned from watching the others set up to argue with his sister, but she was wearing that same stubborn look he'd so often seen Ellana wear.

 _Why do all the women in my life have_ _ **that**_ _look?_ He wondered.

“Are you still good with a bow?” he asked, rather than waste his time with an argument he'd likely lose, she nodded, “Good. Stick by the dwarf with the crossbow, he'll keep you safe.”

“He's a kill-stealer though,” Ellana chimed in, appearing at Cullen's side, “And whatever he tells you about our kill-count is a damn lie.”

“I heard that 'Lea!” Varric shouted from in front of the chantry, “And I'm ahead by two.”

“All lies.” she stage-whispered to Mia, “The blonde elf next to him will lend you a bow.”

Mia took off at a run, rounding up the few remaining civilians and herding them toward the chantry,

“You're going to want a good view anyway, Goldilocks.” Cullen heard Varric say to Mia, “They're good on their own. Together? Well, you'll see.”

Cullen took his place in the middle of the village square just as he heard the unmistakeable sound of armour as The Believers' soldiers approached to continue their assault. The sound of armour and weapons was loud as it echoed down the narrow alleys between houses.

All around him, people got into their positions; arrows were notched at the ready by the archers over their heads, even more had appeared on the roof of the chantry.

Ellana followed his gaze to see the villagers, “Hold your attack until my signal. We stand together, we fight together, and together we'll make them regret ever threatening us. Make them remember you.” she told them before turning to their line before the chantry doors, “Inquisition, nobody gets past this line, am I clear?” a chorus of shouts and yes boss-es responded, “Stay safe, watch each others backs.”

“And if all else fails, let the crazy mage handle it!” they replied in practised unison.

The first time Cullen had heard that particular pre-battle ritual his blood had turned to ice in his veins; now he couldn't help the slow smile and thrill that ran through him as he joined in. How times had changed.

She waved her staff, the dampened sconces fixed upon walls and next to doors burst into flame,

“You ready?” she murmured as she span her staff in her hands and dropped into a fighting stance at his side.

Ready? For the people that had tried to blackmail them by killing innocent people? Damn right he was ready.

“Let them come.”

 

The ground beneath Cullen's feet began to rumble; vibration caused by dozens of armoured bodies running heavily toward them. He licked his lips, glancing briefly to his side. Ellana was tense, poised on the balls of her feet next to him. She began to beat the end of her staff on the ground, still putting on a show for the frightened villagers, it only took a few beats before Cullen picked up on her rhythm, joining in with his sword on his shield. Within seconds the others had started too, it sounded like the drums of war as it rang around the square,

“Wait for it,” she said, only just loud enough for the others to hear, “Hold.”

The Believers gained yet more distance, picking up the pace as they closed quickly upon them.

Cullen's fingers started to shake as adrenaline flooded him. He tightened his hand around the pommel of his sword.

“Hold.” she said again, having to raise her voice higher now to be heard over the sound of thundering armour.

Small ripples appeared in the puddles that lay scattered across the square. Cullen was starting to think they'd still be stood there when The Believers trampled over them when she finally roared a battle cry,

“Loose!” she screamed.

Her arms waved and a disruption field — a giant bubble of magical energy — appeared over the other side of the square. The Believers steps were slowed by her magic as a barrage of arrows flew over Cullen's head, raining down on the charging enemy forces. Ellana's fire wall burst into life mere inches from The Believers' front line, Dorian's wall of ice was right next to it. The first of The Believers fell, their fellows cleared the disruption field, jumped right over their fallen comrades and kept coming.

Cullen ground his teeth together and raised his shield; braced for the first hit. The first heavily armoured warrior collided with him, the deafening crash of metal on metal rang in his ears. Cullen's feet slid backwards a few inches on the soft ground.

The pressure vanished as Ellana drew her spirit blade up the warrior's back.

Without needing to say a word, without so much as missing a beat, Cullen lifted his shield, and she slipped underneath, around his back to his other side. Fire danced in her palms. Cullen's sword met the twin-dagger wielding rogue behind her, his heavy blade making short work of the rogue's leathers.

Movement caught his eye as a Believer flew backwards through the air; one huge upward swing of Bull's giant axe had sent the soldier soaring to land in the middle of Ellana's wall of fire.

Two more fell under Cullen's attacks. Then three. And four. He was very aware of Ellana fighting next to him, her attacks complimenting his, as his did hers. So natural he didn't need to think about it. She fade-stepped around him, they switched positions and targets so often that The Believers couldn't even come close to keeping up.

When the next heavily armoured warrior threw his weight against Cullen's shield, a line of fire-mines appeared on the ground without Cullen needing to ask for them, one sharp nudge of his shield later, and the warrior was little more than ash.

Cullen lunged forward, embedding his blade deep into the chest of a screaming warrior as he ran full speed toward him. Another was hot on his heels, Cullen didn't have time to retrieve his own sword; he ripped the dying warrior's weapon from his slack fingers, sweeping it deftly across the next person's neck and tossing it to the ground before retrieving his own sword.

The once deafening sounds of the battle had vanished. He could hear Ellana, and the call-outs of their friends, but the ring of steel on steel fell away. It became nothing more than background noise, his body tuned it out of its own accord.

“Archers!” came Dorian's shout from the chantry steps,

“Take cover!” Ellana shouted back, her staff already held high over her head as she conjured another disruption field to slow the fall of the arrows.

The civilians on the balconies and leaning out of windows scrambled behind ledges or back inside buildings.

Cullen brought his sword down in a sharp, fast arc, cleaving the Believer in front of him almost in two, before he lifted his shield. He wrapped his sword arm around Ellana's waist, and she turned into the gap he'd made between his body and shield. One of her arms twisted up and around his neck to shoot a freezing spell at whatever enemy had been creeping up behind him. Cullen tightened the grip he had on her. The scent of her mana hit the back of his nose; metallic, fire and life. She met his eyes, the hand that had slipped behind him came back down to rest against his jaw. Her fingers were still tinged with cold from her spell as he leant into her touch. A tiny moment of peace as, together, they braced themselves for the impact of arrows on his shield. The thud echoed up his arm as they bounced harmlessly off the metal,

“I'm taking the low road,” she said, panting a little, her breath hot on the side of his neck,

“Go,” he replied with a nod. He lifted his shield, and she dropped to her knees to send branches of lightning to dance from her hands. It chained its way through The Believers' soldiers. Most were only frozen in place, but the unlucky few that happened to be standing in puddles first started to shake, then, like marionettes with their strings cut, they dropped to the ground.

The world narrowed down to only them, and their enemies. The background lost its colour and importance, it blurred, the muted colours running together.

Cullen didn't dare take his eyes off The Believers long enough to look, but he was perfectly aware of the others around him.

He heard the sound of Bull shouting instructions across the square to Krem. He could feel Dorian's spells fly past him, or the sensation of the Tevinter mage's magic as barrier after barrier landed on his shoulders. Could hear Cole bizarrely ask Bull why he didn't have a dragon etched onto his eyepatch, and Bull's muttered response of,

“Not the time, Kid. But remind me later.”

And still, there was more of them. It was starting to become a blur. Cullen had long since lost count of how many times he'd swung his sword. The adrenaline that made his heart pound wouldn't let him feel the exhaustion, or the combined weight of his weapons and armour. Precise strike followed precise strike. The stench of blood and mana clogged the back of his nose, bringing its own, more primal, excitement.

Cullen braced himself behind his shield as a heavily armoured warrior threw his weight against it, Cullen could hold the weight and shove back, until another joined his ally. With two of them Cullen started to feel his feet be pushed back, he was sliding along the mud,

“Cullen!” Ellana shouted, “Hold on!” She flung herself behind the rogue she'd been duelling with, slicing through the rogues light leather armour as she passed behind her, and turned behind the backs of the two warriors that were pressing him backwards. They hadn't even noticed she was there when she flung her staff over their heads and across their neck and began to pull them back. He saw her eyes glance over his shoulder to the chantry, “Duck!” she yelled. Cullen dipped his head behind his shield and a moment later he felt an arrow fly past each ear and the pressure on his shield vanished. When he glanced at the ground he saw that each warrior now had an arrow lodged firmly between the eyes. He looked back over toward the chantry in time to see his sister and Sera exchange a high-five, Mia sent a smug look in his direction before he turned back to face The Believers.

Ellana's next ice spell froze a Believer in place directly in front of him, Cullen jumped forward to crush him with his shield before the magic wore off,

“Where are the mages?” he called to her, “These are the Venatori, so where are the mages?”

“No idea,” she shouted back, she swung her staff and a Believer fell unconscious to the ground, “Probably for the best, we mages are bad-ass. You don't want to -”

Cullen saw the warrior approach before she did, but was too far away from her to block the attack. The warrior seemed to be moving in slow motion, the arc of his swing hung in the air. Cullen couldn't see his face behind his helm, but was sure the warrior would be wearing a look of triumph as his attack descended on The Inquisitor's head.

Cullen's pounding heart stopped dead in its tracks. He dropped his sword and grabbed the back of Ellana's leather coat, yanking her backwards with all his strength. She yelped as the sharp tip of the warrior's sword dragged down her face.

Cullen twisted, pulling her behind his shield and against his chest.

“Ell!” he heard Dorian shout.

Three quick bolts from Varric's crossbow dealt with the warrior.

“I'm okay, I'm okay.” she said, sheltered safe behind Cullen's shield. But her skin was pale under the blood that ran from the gash on her cheek and onto her neck, her fingers trembled when she rubbed the blood away with the heel of her hand. She flicked his sword up from the ground with the toe of her boot and handed it to him, “You can yell at me later.” she said when Cullen opened his mouth,

“Oh, I plan to. Maker forsaken crazy mage.”

“Let's deal with the bad guys first, huh?” she smiled at him, the feral smile that heated his blood.

As one, they emerged from behind his shield.

Countless training sessions had given them a practised harmony, they used each other's attacks to fuel their own, switching enemies to keep them off balance.

“Get down!” Cullen barked, and slammed one of The Believers with his shield, right where Ellana's head had been a split-second before. She swept under his arm, coming up behind him, a wall of fire sprang from her hands incinerating the attackers that had been heading for his exposed back.

He launched his sword through the air at a charging warrior wielding a huge two-handed axe, the sword flew true, planting itself hard in the warrior's chest. The sound of his name was the only warning he got, the only one he needed, before Ellana tossed him her staff. He swung the staff, blocking the two daggers of a rogue, before the heavy blunt end of the staff connected with the side of the rogues head. Ellana sprinted the few steps to where his sword was buried in the chest of the warrior. She slid along the wet ground, yanking the sword from the body and drawing it harshly across the stomach of another Believer, spilling his guts into the mud.

Cullen tossed her back her staff, with the sword in one hand and the staff in the other, she dropped to her haunches, swinging in a low circle, the blades catching all in the arc. She threw Cullen back his sword so he could finish them off.

Finally, it was over. A horn sounded in the distance, it sounded far away, sad and lonely as it carried across the farmland. The last of The Believers retreated, following the sound of the horn.

A cheer erupted from the chantry and The Inquisition. The villagers, still on balconies or hanging from windows waved their bows in the air, shouting insults at the retreating Believers.

Ellana turned to look at them with a smile, her staff hanging at her side. She laughed at the people hanging from their windows before turning to smile at Cullen,

“See? We stop the bad guys. Everyone in one piece.”

“ _Mostly_ in one piece.” he said quietly, the adrenaline was already starting to wear off, exhaustion rushing back in, and the damage to Ellana's face looked worse now than it had in the fight. He took her chin gently in his fingers and tilted her face to look at the injury left by the warrior's sword. The cut ran from just below her eye to her jawline.

 _Less than an inch higher, and she'd have lost the eye,_ he swallowed hard, _just another half-inch._

She reached one arm up in a grossly exaggerated stretch that left her hand on the back of her neck,

“So there were these puppies and orphans...”

A laugh rumbled from his chest, thick and full-bodied, and he knew she wouldn't be getting the yelling at he'd promised her in the fight, quite the opposite, in fact. His arms wrapped tight around her as he tugged her to him for a kiss. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she lifted on her toes, to the sounds of whoops and cat-calls from The Inquisition.

Cullen found he didn't particularly care.

“You're awful, you know that?” He muttered when she dropped back onto her heels, she smiled up at him,

“I love you, too.”

 


	17. Be ready.

Mia settled a small boy and girl with near identical blonde curls into a cot in a darkened alcove at the back of the chantry. She kissed both on their rosy cheeks and ruffled their hair in the same way Cullen remembered his own mother putting him to sleep as a child. Cullen helped her carefully hang a make-shift curtain over the alcove before the pair of them walked back into the main section of the chantry. Much of the village had chosen to remain inside the chantry for the night, just in case The Believers returned.

Cullen leant back against the wall near the door with a sigh. He could see Ellana flitting from person to person; just chatting with them, or checking if they needed anything. She'd made a brief stop to allow Dorian to check her wound — his magic had closed the deep cut on her cheek, a few days of itching while it healed under the thick layer of elfroot poultice he'd smeared on top and it should be as good as new. She'd be left with a scar, but not as noticeable as it would have been had they been forced to use stitches — and she hadn't stopped since. Cullen didn't know where she found the energy; they hadn't slept in days, he felt dead on his feet.

“So you are alive, after all.” Mia said as she slouched back on the wall next to him,

“I think it depends on what you class as alive,” Cullen joked around a huge yawn, “It's up for debate right now.” Mia turned to look at him sternly, and Cullen found himself straightening up a little and rubbing the back of his neck. He knew what that look was for and, if he was honest with himself, he probably deserved it, “I'm sorry,” he said, “I meant to write more often, or come down to see you, but -”

“You came to the rescue,” Mia interrupted him, waving his apology away with a flick of her hand, “You came when it mattered, that's the important thing. I'll let you off with it this time.”

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. His correspondence with his family had improved since joining The Inquisition, though it still wasn't enough to satisfy his sister. When he'd been in Kirkwall he'd barely written once a year, at the time he'd thought he was sparing them. All he'd accomplished was making them worry more, he wasn't planning on making the same mistake twice.

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching Ellana chatter away to one of the village children. She hunkered down, so she was on eye-level with the little girl, and turned her head to the side, the child's small hand tentatively reached out to touch the pointed tip of Ellana's ear,

“She's not exactly what I'd pictured,” Mia said, her head tilted to the side and a confused frown creasing her brow,

“Oh?” Cullen asked, already smiling; rarely did the legend mirror the real person, Ellana took that to the extreme, “What were you expecting?”

“I don't know. The way people talk -” Mia shrugged, “We've heard the stories, of course. I half expected her to be ten feet tall, look like Andraste and shoot lightning.”

“In all fairness to the stories, she does indeed shoot lightning.”

“You know what I mean,” Mia said, elbowing him playfully in the ribs, “The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. I was expecting grandeur, for her to be hailed by trumpets and cherubs waving banners.”

“Please make sure you tell her that, and make sure I'm there when you do.” Cullen said with a chuckle, “She doesn't stand on ceremony. I've put my foot in my mouth more often than most, so take some advice from an old pro; don't call her “your Worship.””

Mia turned her head to look at him, “So, how are you, Cullen? I -” she paused and glanced at the ground for a moment before continuing, “I heard about the lyrium.”

“You did?” It was his turn to be surprised,

“I had to hear about it from Branson. Branson! He lorded that over me for months.”

“How did Branson know?” Cullen asked, he certainly hadn't told their brother, mostly because he hadn't wanted them to worry, he winced a little at himself, _I really need to write more often._

Mia rolled her eyes, “The tales of The Inquisition's fearless Commander are almost as prolific as that of The Inquisitor herself. From what I hear, you're taking in other ex-Templars, helping them to stop taking lyrium.”

“The gossip proves as reliable as ever,” he groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, barracks gossip was one thing, he had no idea that it would spread out of Skyhold, let alone travel this far, “Yes, what you've heard is true. I stopped taking lyrium, it was... unpleasant.” he pulled a face, the details were a lot worse than unpleasant, but he'd spare his sister that, “I had help,” he inclined his head in Ellana's direction, “And now we're helping others.”

Mia looked at him carefully, her eyes narrowed, “And how are you? Really?”

“Really? I'm well. Tired, but overall? Yes, I'm well.” His gaze flicked across the chantry to Ellana again, “Despite everything, I'm happy.”

Mia continued to watch him, searching his face for a lie. Apparently satisfied he was telling the truth, she nodded, before a sly gleam came into her eyes, “So, you and The Inquisitor...”

“Mia,” he warned,

“I'm not trying to pry,” she replied, holding her hands up in surrender. Cullen raised a brow at her, and she grinned shamelessly, “Alright, I am. But sisterly privileged, I'm allowed. Now spill.”

“It's — I'm not sure how to explain it,” he looked back at Ellana, she was on her knees now, she'd amassed a small following of children, each taking it in turns to touch her pointed ears or trace her Dalish markings with small fingers, “She just appeared in my life one day — literally falling from the sky — this person, stranger than anyone I've ever met; half crazy and so completely not what I was looking for. She utterly turned my life upside down, and now, I can't quite remember how I lived so long without her.”

Mia didn't answer, after a few seconds Cullen turned back to look at his sister, she was smiling at him, “Do I hear wedding bells?”

“Mia...” Cullen groaned, he should have known he wouldn't be able to say a word without his sister teasing him about it,

“How many kids do you think you'll have? I always wanted twins, but -”

“Mia! Don't.” he said, feeling himself start to blush as a few heads turned in their direction,

“You could have the wedding here!” Mia said, not trying in the least to keep her voice down, “I still have fathers old suit lying around somewhere, and...”

His sister was still talking, but Cullen's attention had been pulled away from the conversation by the opening of the chantry's large wooden doors. Sera's blonde head poked around the door-frame, spotting Ellana, Sera waved to Varric over her shoulder and the pair of them hurried over the threshold. Ellana wasn't hard to spot, she was now letting small branches of lightning arch between her fingers for the amusement of the increasing group of village children gathered around her.

“What?” Mia asked, the teasing tone falling from her voice as she followed his gaze.

“Sera and Varric,” he muttered, “It was them that Ellana sent to track the retreating Believers.”

Cullen pushed off from the wall, Mia trailing after him, and he joined Ellana, Sera and Varric in the centre of the chantry,

“- and how far is it?” Ellana was asking when he arrived,

“Not far, just over the next rise,” Varric answered, he was cleaning the mud from his boots by rubbing the tops on the back of the other calf, “But 'Lea? If you want to go after them, then it needs to be now.”

“Hmm,” Ellana mused, she rubbed a finger over the still-healing cut on her face, Cullen carefully batted the finger away,

“It'll open up again if you play with it,” he muttered, she blinked as though she hadn't realised what she was doing and glanced up at him,

“The Believers have retreated to an old building, it's large but has only one entry point. If we pursue now then we can trap them and force a surrender.”

“Rylen will be here in a few days with the soldiers,” he reminded her, “If we wait then we'll have backup.”

“If we wait then they might escape,” she countered, “We'll lose our chance, and we may not get another.”

Cullen hesitated; he hadn't grown up in South Reach, he hadn't even visited, so he had no information about this building. They could be walking into anything. He hated walking into a situation blind.

“We can end this, right here and right now.” she pressed.

“Ellana...” he started, his voice gentle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others glance away, Varric was adjusting the firing mechanism on Bianca in his hands, giving them the illusion of privacy,

“I can't have a village six, Cullen.” Ellana whispered, she sucked in her cheeks and bit her lip, but couldn't hide the pain in her eyes, “I just can't.”

Cullen hesitated only a moment longer, that stubborn streak of hers that he both loved and hated warred with the pain in her eyes, before he nodded. It was against his better judgement, but the appeal of putting The Believers down once and for all combined with his desire to wash that pain away overruled his caution, “On your order, Inquisitor.”

She gave his hand a quick grateful squeeze then turned to the others, her Inquisitor mask already dropping back into place, “Alright, let's end this,” she cracked her neck, “Round up the others, we meet at the doors in two minutes.”

Sera and Varric took off to follow her orders. Ellana's gaze flicked to Mia then back to Cullen, “Are you sure you don't want to stay here? Visit with your sister?”

Cullen turned to look at Mia, an apology already forming in his mind, she placed her hand on the crook of his arm before he could speak and shook her head,

“You need to go, I know. Go, it's fine.” her smile turned sad, “Just try to come back when there's not a life-threatening reason?”

“I will, I promise,” he said. The visit was long overdue and, hopefully, he wouldn't be visiting alone, it would be nice to see Ellana and his family together, “Once this is over.”

Mia pulled him into a quick hug, “Be careful.” she muttered into his ear before releasing him.

“It was nice to meet you, Mia.” Ellana said, taking Mia's hand with a smile, “It's a shame it was while crazy people were trying to kill us all, but that seems to be how I meet most people these days.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Inquisitor.” Cullen rolled his eyes at his sister over Ellana's head as she flustered a little,

“Please, Ellana is fine.”

“Alright Ellana.” Mia smiled, “Look after my brother for me.”

Ellana bumped the side of her hip into his, “Always do.”

 

***

 

It had started raining again while they'd been inside the chantry, a fine drizzle that soaked them through in moments and reduced visibility. They'd left their mounts at South Reach and approached the building The Believers were hiding in on foot. The mud sucked and pulled at Cullen's boots as they slogged across the sodden fields.

In the low light it was difficult to see much of the building, but it was indeed old. From what Cullen could see, the roof was intact, but the walls had started to crumble in parts. It didn't look as though it would be much warmer inside than it was without. It was an unremarkable building; low and narrow, it stretched out into the mist away from them. They didn't see any movement on their approach, the only sound was the occasional complaint from Dorian about the 'joys of southern weather.'

Ellana brought them to a stop when they reached the doors, “Okay, we're trying to bring back as many with us as we can, take prisoners when possible. Only fight if they force our hand, and wait for me to attack first.”

They nodded their agreement, and, taking a deep breath, she pushed the doors open, and they crossed the threshold.

There were no windows in the entryway. It was very dark, Cullen wasn't able to see what sort of surrounding they'd found themselves in. One hand groping in front of him, he took a few shuffling steps forward to allow the others in behind him. The air smelled stale, old and dry, as though it hadn't been disturbed since the building had been abandoned.

The door closed with a creak behind them, leaving them in total darkness. Cullen stood perfectly still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

He heard a crash to his left, startling him and making his heart jump into his throat. His hand was halfway through retrieving his weapon when Ellana hissed,

“Sorry! Just me, watch the step.”

“Oi!” Sera snapped, “Get off my foot!”

“Sorry,” Bull rumbled, “It's cramped as shit in here. It's alright if you're an elf, I've got these great big horns -”

“Watch it!” Varric this time, “Don't step on me!”

“Oh, this is just -” Ellana whispered, exasperation in her sigh, “Shield your eyes.”

Cullen closed his eyes, but he could still see the low green flare of her veilfire behind his closed lids. When he opened them again, she was bathed in green fire to the elbows and Cullen could see their surroundings properly for the first time. They were huddled, shivering and dripping rainwater, in an unfurnished entryway. The inside of the building seemed as unremarkable as the outside. The stone walls were bare, but had been painted at some point in the past; patches of old white paint still clung to the stone in places, pealing and curling upon itself. The stone floor was also bare, it felt gritty with dust under his feet, he could feel it crunching under his boots. Ancient, rotten leaves had been blown into small piles in the corners. They were so curled and brown that Cullen suspected they'd disintegrate the instant they were touched.

A few steps ahead of them let to a narrow hallway.

“I think we've lost the element of surprise,” Ellana muttered, “But let's try to be quiet from here on out, alright?”

Sera, still rubbing her injured foot, grumbled, “You made noise first.”

Ellana rolled her eyes, but huffed a quiet laugh as she inclined her head toward the hallway. There was another flare of green as Dorian copied her spell, and they shuffled into single file to follow Ellana down the hallway.

Darkness closed in behind them as they walked, their shadows, cast in the strange green light, followed them, wavering on the rough walls.

Doors lined the corridor on both sides, but whenever Cullen tried one of the rusty iron handles he found it locked.

Even moving as quietly as they were, the sound of their steps on the bare stone was loud. The rattle of their weapons and armour was amplified by the close walls. It felt as though they were walking much longer than they really were. The odd sounds of skittering in the walls put Cullen in mind of rats and giant spiders lurking in the shadows, watching the odd combination of elf, dwarf, qunari and human intrude upon their home. Sera was especially jumpy, almost leaping into Bull's arms when something made a noise behind a wall close to them.

Eventually, they reached the end of the hall and the last door. Ellana paused in front of it, her hand resting on the handle, “This can't be the end of the building, it looked much longer than this from the outside,” she glanced at the others over Cullen's shoulder, “Be ready.”

She threw the door wide, and they hurried through. Weapons at the ready, war faces already in place, they entered the room, fanning out to give each other space to fight. Ellana was on Cullen's left, Bull on her other side. The others spread around the edges or just over their shoulders. The room they found themselves in was like the hall, just larger. More stone walls, blank except for even more doors and a few sconces. And nothing else. Not a single member of The Believers.

“Well, that was anti-climactic.” Dorian drawled.

Ellana flicked her wrists and the veilfire left her arms to fill the sconces, lighting the large square hall.

“Keep your weapons ready.” Ellana muttered, and they started walking slowly through the room.

The hairs on the back of Cullen's neck started to rise. He crossed one foot in front of the other as he walked, lifting his feet as little as possible to reduce the noise. His palms started to sweat inside his gloves, and he tightened his grip on his sword.

Ellana's head was tilted slightly to one side, he noticed, listening carefully past the noise they were making. The mark in her hand sparked, mana wavering in her other fist.

“This feels like a -” she started to whisper, a door ahead of them banged open, and she halted in her tracks, “Like a trap. Fenedhis.” she finished, as half a dozen Believers walked into the hall.

They were a mixture of heavy knights with two-handed broad-swords, warriors with swords and shields and nimble leather clad rogues bearing pairs of sharp daggers. Cullen and the others were tired, but if they had to fight another half-dozen, they could. _It isn't too bad, maybe we can —_ two other doors opened, more Believers filled their ranks, weapons already drawn and ready, and took up position a few feet ahead of them. _Maker, that's going to complicate matters._

Ellana straightened up as much as her short stature would allow, and held her staff away from her body with one hand, her other palm open in a placating gesture,

“We are The Inquisition,” she said, her loud Inquisitor voice echoed from the stone walls, “I'm offering you the chance to surrender.”

The Believers didn't answer, they stood as they were, facing them across the room. Cullen felt the others tense around him, preparing to fight. Ellana licked her lips and tried again,

“The village of South Reach has been saved, there is nowhere left for you to go. No one else has to die today. Return with us to Skyhold and I promise you a fair trial.”

There was still no reaction from The Believers. If Cullen hadn't known better, he'd have thought them statues, they didn't so much as twitch. Ellana wasn't ready to give up, “This is your last chance; you know who we are, and you know what we've faced. If you push this fight, it isn't going to go well for you. I implore you, put your weapons down and leave with us peacefully.”

Cullen saw her shift her weight, so subtly that The Believers wouldn't see, as she lowered her centre of gravity, ready to fight. Cullen took a deep breath, and pulled any energy he had left to the forefront. He could already feel adrenaline make its way through him, making his muscles tighten. He felt lighter on his feet, but denser at the same time. Indestructible.

“I don't know who you think you're working for,” Ellana said, “Corypheus is dead. Trying to re-open The Breach is a lost cause, even if it were possible it wouldn't bring him back. We should try to stop this _mayhem._ ” the emphasis on the last word was lost on Cullen, but he saw Bull shift his weight from foot to foot on her other side. He heard Varric mutter a curse from behind him. When nothing else changed Ellana cleared her throat, “This _mayhem_ harms everyone.” When still nothing happened, she gave up on the pretence, stamping one foot she turned to Bull,

“For crying out — Bull? Mayhem!”

Bull glanced past her to Cullen, then hissed at Ellana, “But you said never in front of -”

“I know what I said. Mayhem, now!” she shouted,

“If you say so, Boss!”

Without even a grunt of effort, Bull lifted Ellana to shoulder height, leant back and launched her straight over The Believer's line. It happened so fast that Cullen barely had time to swear inside his head, never mind actually be able to stop it from happening.

The Believers didn't have time to react either, the last thing any of them expected was a very annoyed and powerful mage to soar through the air like a damn bird. As they took their first step forward Ellana threw a line of fire-mines at their feet as she flew over their heads,

“Bellanaris Din'an Heem!” Ellana roared, landing behind them. An instant later a wall of fire erupted in the middle of the group.

In one deafening voice, The Inquisition shouted a battle-cry — a mixture of curses in various languages, or incoherent screams — before they rushed forward. Meeting The Believers head-on in the middle.

The small confines of the room made things so much harder than they had been in South Reach. The sounds of crashing metal and raised voices bounced around them, it was disorienting and incredibly loud.

With a cry, Cullen smashed the pommel of his sword into the face of the nearest Believer, blood poured from the rogue's nose before Cullen hit him again, the man fell and didn't move. The rogue hadn't hit the floor before Cullen had moved on to the next as he tried to fight his way to Ellana.

He hadn't seen her since she'd landed behind The Believers.

In the dim light it was much harder to tell friend from foe, or see the attacks coming. The green flare of the fire gave everything an other-worldly feel, as though fighting in a dream.

A warrior's shield crashed heavily against Cullen's, nearly knocking him backwards, digging his heels into the hard stone, he pushed back, grinding his teeth together so hard that his jaw ached. Just when he didn't think he could hold it any longer, Bull barrelled in from his left, one sharp knock of the qunari's axe sent the warrior sprawling,

“Not enough room to swing a dead nug in here!” Bull bellowed, “Where's the Boss?”

“I can't find her!” Cullen shouted back, he could barely see through the sea of bodies to look. Quick movement in the corner of Cullen's eye grabbed his attention, turning quickly he brought his sword up, stopping the twin daggers mere inches from impaling Bull's back.

“Motherless son of a...” Bull muttered as he saw the rogue fall on top of the warrior, turning back to The Believers he taunted, “Alright you crap-lords, who's next?”

Another two fell under Cullen's blade, but it seemed every time one fell, another took their place,

“Where they all coming from?” Sera called, Cullen had no idea. He wasn't getting any closer to breaking The Believers line, The Inquisition started to lose ground as The Believers pushed them back. They were halfway back to the corridor when suddenly the doors behind them opened. Cullen dispatched the knight he'd been fighting with two hard slashes of his sword, and he turned to force his way to the newly opened doors.

A new line of Believers hurried through.

These carried staffs.

_Guess we know where they were hiding the mages._

Cullen panted hard, his sword was incredibly heavy. An injury on his upper arm seeped blood, it ran, hot and sticky into his glove. The cut throbbed in time with his heart-beat, he couldn't even remember when he had sustained it.

The mages just had time to begin to chant something in Tevene when Ellana appeared out of nowhere. She sprinted across the room before sliding to her knees in front of him. The slash on her cheek had re-opened, pouring fresh blood down her face, and she'd split her lip since Cullen had seen her last. But she was whole. She dropped her staff, screamed a cry of pure rage and fire burst from her hands, sending the mages back through the doors.

“Varric! Traps!” she barked, brightly coloured balls flew over their heads to land around the doors, “Dor! Ice!” Dorian's ice-wall blocked one of the doors entirely, “Bull! Clear us some room!”

Grabbing Cullen's arm, Ellana tugged him to the ground. All around them, members of The Inquisition dropped to the dusty floor. Bull lifted his giant axe over his head, swinging it in a huge arc. He caught multiple Believers in the swing, others were pressed back.

“Inquisition! Circle up!” she ordered, hopping to their feet, they turned shoulder to shoulder, forming a circle.

Cullen hacked and slashed with every ounce of energy he had left, but it was no use; there were simply too many of them.

A few of The Believer's mages broke their way through the ice-wall, Cullen pulled his shield up just in time to protect himself and Ellana from the conjured icicles the mages sent in their direction. From somewhere behind him, Cullen heard a scream, not one of rage, but of pain,

“Sera!” Ellana shouted for her friend, but was already fighting off a warriors attack with her staff and didn't dare turn her head to look, “Cole?”

“I have her!” Cole called back. From the corner of his vision, Cullen saw Cole pull Sera out of the fight and against the wall. Cole hunkered down over the unmoving elf, keeping her safe, but with the two of them out of the fight, it only got progressively worse. They were pressed closer and closer together as The Believers tried to surround them. It was harder to swing his sword, they were so close together he could barely move it without hitting one of the others. Ellana and Bull, their weapons so much larger, couldn't use them at all.

Someone grabbed Cullen's arm, he brought his sword up, and was mid-swing when he realised it was Dorian. His friend was pale under the blood that sheeted down his face from a cut at his impeccable hairline,

“Get Ell out of here, Cullen!” Dorian panted,

“But -”

“Our luck has officially run out. As much as I'd like to think differently, we're not walking away from this one. Take Ell and go, now!”

Sheathing his sword, Cullen grabbed Ellana around the waist, shoulder barged his way through a gap in The Believers' line and half carried, half dragged, her towards the only door that wasn't surrounded by enemies.

 _Maker, she's never going to forgive me for this,_ was the only thing even close to a coherent thought that passed through his mind as he kicked the door open and threw them both down a corridor.

 

It was only at the last second that Ellana realised the person grabbing her around the waist was Cullen. Frost still coated her fingers; she'd been an instant away from freezing him to the spot when she recognised the fur on his mantle.

_What in The Creators name is he doing?_

Her feet were lifted off the ground when he kicked a door open.

_He's leaving the others behind?? Not a chance!!_

“Cullen! Stop!” He didn't seem to hear her as he lifted her and dragged her down a corridor they hadn't been in before. It was almost a tunnel, on a sharp downward incline, “We don't leave people behind! Stop!”

Before she could stop him, he pushed open another door and threw the pair of them through it and finally put her down. She turned on him, fully intending to shove him out of the way and head back to the fight, “What do you think you're -”

“Inquisitor,” came the stranger's voice from behind her, and Ellana felt her heart stop in her chest, “nice of you to join us.”

 

 

 


	18. I'm not leaving you.

“Inquisitor,” came the stranger's voice from behind her, and Ellana felt her heart stop in her chest, “nice of you to join us.”

Every hair on her arms and neck began to rise, the anchor sparked sending a small flare of pain up to her elbow. She felt Cullen go completely still beside her, heard his sucked in breath.

With a deepening feeling of dread, she slowly turned around. She'd been so focused on getting past Cullen and returning to the fight that she hadn't noticed the room they were in. Bull had been forced to duck his head in the rooms earlier, that wouldn't have been the case here. She and Cullen were in the sunken centre of what looked like an amphitheatre of some kind. Over-sized stone steps formed a ring around them, rising up from the dirt floor one step at a time in concentric circles, the highest step ended a dozen feet or so above them.

Torches that lined the highest ring burst into life, bright flames illuminated the room fully, revealing numerous strangers. Ellana's stomach dropped as she turned in a slow circle. With sickening horror she looked around the top level; people in dark hooded robes stood almost shoulder to shoulder the entire way around. Their hoods were pulled up, their faces in shadow.

 _She'va dhal, this is bad._ More cloaked figures appeared from doors on the top level or stepped from the shadows, _really, really bad._

“I was starting to think one of my men might have killed you, even after all the effort on my behalf to ensure you made it here. That wouldn't have done at all.” The voice of what Ellana could only assume was The Believers' leader echoed from the stone. The voice was cold, unfeeling, it made Ellana think of snakes; something slimy and unpleasant. She suppressed the shudder that tried to work its way up her spine and forced herself to hold her head high. There was a faint edge of detached amusement in his voice, colouring the usual melodic Tevinter accent. After spending so much time with Dorian, she hadn't realised how that accent could sound so malevolent. The amusement mocked them as the hooded figures began their descent toward Ellana and Cullen at the centre.

Cullen moved closer to her, almost stepping in front of her as one arm swept across her front protectively, the other hand twitched toward his sword. The anchor, her strange connection to the fade, flared again, stronger this time, the pain shot to her shoulder, and she closed the hand into a tight fist. Goosebumps raised under Ellana's leather, a cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck as the man's words sank in,

 _After all the effort he'd gone to... Fenedhis._ She could have groaned. This wasn't about South Reach at all. _Cullen and the others are in danger because of me. It was all to lure me here._

“What do you want?” Ellana shouted back, her voice would sound confident, almost defiant, to the untrained ear, but Cullen would hear the edge of panic underlying it,

“Didn't you get my letters, Inquisitor? You know precisely what we want.”

The echo was distorting the sound of his voice, she couldn't make out which of the robed figures was talking. One still on the top ring of steps, she imagined. Certainly not one that was lowering him or herself from the last step and onto the floor. They took their time, walking down the large steps slowly, menacingly. Weapons were slipped from beneath cloaks in every direction she looked in.

Ellana turned to Cullen, her mouth already open to tell him to run, to get out while he still could. They couldn't take this many on by themselves, and she had no intention of taking him down with her. Before she could utter a word he looped his arm through hers, pulling them back-to-back,

“How much do you think you've got left in you?” he hissed,

 _Nothing!_ Her body screamed at her, _Between the battle at South Reach and then in the hall above, you've nothing left! You're running on empty._

“I don't know,” she whispered back, “Not much, not enough.”

“Make it count.”

Ellana dropped low, poised on the balls of her feet with her staff in her hands.

 _I got him into this,_ she decided as she conjured a barrier for them, _I'm going to get him back out of it._

The Believers on the top tiers shouted and jeered as the ones on the floor began their attack. Like cats playing with a cornered mouse, they treated their attacks like a game, only one or two moving in at a time before backing off. Neither she nor Cullen could pursue without leaving the other with an unprotected back.

Ellana's fire-mines — they flickered feebly due to her depleted mana, but they were there — blocked off one angle of attack, but they were in the centre of a circular room. The Believers simply came at them a different way.

She swung her staff at the enemy in front of her, he caught the shaft in his hands. Rather than fight him for it, she raked her nails down his face, slicing three long cuts down his skin. The Believer released her staff and stumbled backwards. The Believers on the top steps jeered harder, laughing at their comrade.

The next rogue wasn't fast enough to avoid her frost spell, she was instantly covered in ice from head to toe. Swinging herself under Cullen's arm they switched sides so he could crush the rogue with his shield.

Her head ached as she pushed herself harder, pulling at a mana pool that she'd already drained. The Believers had mages of their own. They stood on the highest steps, protecting the warriors and rogues. They send spell at their soldiers, increasing their attacks, and countering Ellana's magic.

She focused on defensive spells, throwing barriers over them. Using every trick in her arsenal to slow The Believers down; disruption fields, walls of fire, mines. One after the other. Her magic was weak, and only getting weaker with every attack. She felt dizzy, her knees turning to jelly underneath her.

Without warning, Cullen grabbed her around her waist, pulling her tight behind his shield, a split-second later Ellana heard the thud of arrows hit the metal. There was no small moment of peace this time, she could hear his harsh, ragged breaths. Blood gleamed on his glove, seeping from a deep cut on his arm. It was a wonder he could even raise his sword, let alone swing it.

Her own escape lost meaning, all that mattered was getting Cullen out alive. That was her only goal; sharp and clear in her mind. Nothing else mattered.

Lightning, weak and barely over a spark, hit one Believer square in the chest. He was paralysed on the spot, but it lasted barely a second before he was able to shake off the effects.

She turned her head to shout at Cullen, “You need to get out of -”

“Don't.” he cut her off, turning his own head to meet her eyes, “I'm not leaving you.”

The sharp look in his eyes and the clench of his jaw told her there'd be no talking him out of it. Her stomach tightened, bile burned in the back of her throat, making a coppery taste in her mouth, but she nodded.

With her back pressed hard against his, she fought as though his life depended on it, which it very much did. She found a reserve of energy and mana that she didn't know she had.

Barrier after barrier she threw over them. She swung her staff like a woman possessed. But The Believers kept their distance, dancing in for a quick swipe of a sword or dagger before darting back out of reach. She didn't dare take her back from Cullen's for a second. Every few moments she felt his shield arm press against her, making sure she was still there and still fighting. She had no intention of letting him down.

 _Maybe the others will catch up,_ she thought, _maybe they're okay, and we only need to hold out long enough for them to join us. Maybe -_

She saw the mage too late; he waved an arm at her and she felt her feet lift from the ground, the toes of her boots scraped the surface, before her ribs began to squeeze.

 

Cullen turned at the sound of choking and gasping breaths. One of the mages had caught Ellana in a crushing prison spell. Her face was already becoming red as she fought for every breath. Her throat bulged, her hands in tight fists at her sides as she arched backwards, hovering a few inches from the floor.

Cullen's shield fell from his numb fingers unnoticed, the surrounding enemies were immediately forgotten.

He didn't think, he just reacted.

He reached inside himself for the pool of focused will he'd been honing. And, with it, pushed as hard as he could. The spell vanished as he purged it. He rushed forward to catch her as she slumped to the floor. His fingertips had barely brushed her leather coat when sharp fire burst through his side.

He realised his mistake too late. Watching her fight for breath had stopped him from noticing the absence of her barrier; the warm protective spell she'd cast over him was gone. He'd purged it along with the crushing prison spell.

White hot pain seared its way across his ribs, stars burst behind his eyes as he dropped to one knee. Suddenly he couldn't hold his sword up any longer. He couldn't breathe. He pawed uselessly at his ribcage, his hand came away hot, wet and covered in blood. His mind was already becoming fuzzy, he barely registered that the blood was his own as he fell to the ground. The sound of Ellana screaming his name was distant background noise.

 

Everyone that had been slowly inching closer were suddenly tossed back by the power of her exploding mana, thrown from their feet like rag dolls to land on the stone steps. Ellana stood over him, panting hard in shallow breaths, hair flying like a wild animal. She snarled and growled at anyone that came too close. Fire danced in the hand that wasn't holding her staff.

 

Cullen tried to tell her it would be alright. At that moment everything became peaceful; far away and unimportant. It didn't even hurt that much any more. He tried to tell her, but nothing escaped his throat but a harsh, wet choking noise. He tried to clear his throat, but even that seemed like too much trouble. He was far too tired.

 

Ellana's breaths turned from pants to almost sobbing as she crouched over Cullen, waiting for The Believers' attack, knowing she'd take as many of them down with her as she could. Knowing at the same time that it was too late. They'd already taken the most important thing from her that they could - _but by the Gods, are they going to pay for it -_ The only sound was her own breathing that seemed to echo from the stone walls. The group moved in closer, circling around them. She moved closer to Cullen. He barely moved. She didn't dare look down; she knew she'd lose her nerve the second she did. A choked gargling sound that didn't belong in a human throat escaped him, a sob burst from her chest, hot tears fell from her eyes to mix with the blood on her face. She tightened the grip on her staff. They would pay for what they'd done.

 

It really wasn't that bad, Cullen thought, like sinking into a warm bath. Like falling asleep, and _Maker,_ he was so tired. It would be alright, she'd do the right thing; stop the bad guys and go home. Everyone in one piece. It was what she did, what she was built for; his warrior mage. It didn't hurt. Something soft and warm was tugging at him gently, coaxing him to rest. It made his eyelids heavy and his thoughts fuzzy. She'd be alright, she'd get out of this like she had a thousand times before.

 

The leader stepped forward and onto the ground, his face was still hidden by the large cloak he wore. He hit his staff on the ground, the sound echoed around the chamber and the others stopped and fell back,

“He's dying,” the man said, his voice flat and uncaring, “You can fight us all, I can see how much you want to. You can choose to use the last of your mana fighting us, but it will be futile. We'll wait until you're too exhausted to fight any longer, and those of us that are left standing will take you. Or, you can choose to use the last of your mana to save his life and you walk out with us. The fighting will stop, your friends will be allowed to leave, the attacks on the villages will end. It's your choice, Inquisitor.”

 

Something burst through the peaceful sleepiness that had fallen over Cullen. _No, no this isn't how it's supposed to go,_ panic gripped his chest, the warm bath he'd been sinking into became a sea of molasses as he fought it, _you never give up, you stand, you fight. This isn't how it's supposed to go._ Lead weights pulled at his eyes as he fought to keep them open.

“I have your word?” she asked, her voice was barely over a whisper, but to Cullen it sounded like a cry,

 _No, Ellana! Don't!_ He couldn't make his throat say the words aloud, all he could do was shout them in his head and pray she would hear him.

“You have my word.” the hooded man said,

_Don't you dare, Ellana. Don't you dare sacrifice yourself for me._

“Done.”

Cullen heard the sound of her staff landing on the ground next to his head, and an instant later her warm hands were cupping his jaw as he scrambled to remain conscious,

“Cullen! Look at me, look at me dammit!” Her trembling fingers snapped under his nose, and he forced his eyes open with all the strength he had left. When his eyes locked with hers he found she wasn't even trying to hide the panic now, fear blazed from her gaze, “It's okay vhenan, you're alright. You're going to be alright. I can fix it, you'll be fine, I promise.” she stammered.

Cullen wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. He tried to tell her to run, to leave him behind and just take as many of the bastards out as she could, to just go. The pressure on his chest was too great, he couldn't find the breath to speak. He could taste the copper of his own blood in the back of his throat and on his tongue.

“Hush, don't try to talk,” she told him, her voice shaky “Just keep looking at me, I need you to stay awake.” Her hands left his face, and he felt them go to the straps that held his chest piece in place, “I have to take this off, I need to see where the blood is coming from. This is going to hurt, a lot. Focus on me, alright? Listen to my voice.”

Agony burst through his chest as Ellana pulled the buckles and stripped the armour away in one quick movement. Darkness crept into the outside of his vision, the world became blurry and dreamlike as unconsciousness threatened to suck him under again,

“No Cullen! Don't you dare die on me now.” she demanded, “Open your eyes and breathe. Look at me. Now.” The world swam back into focus, and he became aware of Ellana slapping the side of his face. Her hand remained on his cheek as he met her eyes, “There you are. There's a dagger lodged between your ribs, I need to pull it out so I can stop the bleeding. Stay with me, we're almost there. On three. One, two -”

On three she pulled. A huge release of pressure eased from his chest. The second the dagger was gone she replaced it with her hands. Cullen felt her magic go to work. She was no healer, but he felt the bleeding slow as the wound was forced to close. Finally, he could breathe.

The moment he had the strength to move his arms, he tugged her hands from his side and pulled them back to his jaw,

“You should have run.” he croaked, and carefully brushed the stubborn lock of silver hair from her forehead, “Maker forsaken crazy mage.”

“That's gratitude for you.” The fear had vanished from her face, a small breathy laugh of relief escaped her, “However I had to, remember?”

_We're here, we're safe, and I'll never let them hurt you._

_How would you stop them?_

_However I had to._

Yes, Cullen remembered well, he'd lost count of how many times they'd said the words.

She leant forward so her forehead rested on his, “Tel'abelas, ma vhenan.” she whispered.

“Inquisitor?” came the voice of The Believers' leader,

“They can leave unharmed? The village attacks stop?” she asked, glancing up,

“I gave you my word, did I not?”

“May I have one moment? Please?”

The robed man inclined his head in the corner of Cullen's vision.

There were a thousand things Cullen wanted to say, “Ellana, I -”

She cut him off by crushing her mouth down on his, “I love you.” she whispered against his lips.

His hand fell from the back of her neck as, much too soon, she lifted herself off him, and he felt her warmth recede. New panic clawed at him,

“Ellana, don't -”

He tried to pull himself upright, to stand. To make them rip her from him if they could. The world span around him, swimming in and out of focus. Somehow he struggled to his knees before one of The Believers' soldiers grabbed him by the front of his tunic and drove his fist into Cullen's face. Lights burst behind his eyes, and unconsciousness finally claimed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's kinda the end of act one. What do you all think so far? Feel free to let me know in the comments.  
> To everyone who has read, given kudos or commented thank you from the bottom of my heart :)


	19. I'm really starting to hate that word.

Cullen jerked awake to find Dorian shaking him by the shoulder,

“Thank the Maker, I was sure you were dead.” Dorian said, falling back onto his haunches in relief,

“I'm not completely certain that I'm not.” Cullen groaned. The last hour filtered sluggishly back through his brain, and the pain returned, hot and fiery in his side, but the panic that made his heart thunder and his stomach twist was far worse, “Where is she?” he croaked, the taste of copper was still thick and cloying in the back of his throat,

“There's only one way out of here, the others are chasing after them as we speak,” Dorian replied, helping Cullen prop himself up on his elbows,

“Is everyone...”

“Alive?” Dorian nodded, “Sera is still out, but she's breathing normally. A particularly strong sleep spell, if you ask me. She'll be back to her loud and annoying self in no time. The moment you dragged Ell through that door, The Believers enchanted it to lock behind you and pulled back, we weren't sure why.”

“We are now, it was a trap.” Cullen groaned again, furious with himself for allowing this to happen,

“A trap that we walked right in to.” Dorian replied. It took a great deal of effort for Cullen not to snap at his friend, he didn't need a reminder that he hadn't seen the trap coming. He was very well aware.

Cullen tried to sit up properly, but pain sent him back down to his elbows, his teeth grit hard against the cry of pain that bubbled up in his chest, Dorian looked at him with raised brows,

“Ellana healed it, I'm fine, I just need to -” Cullen hissed through his teeth when he tried to move again. He clutched his side, Dorian was forced to pry his hands away, so he could push back the tattered remains of his tunic,

“Kaffas,” Dorian tutted, “No wonder you feel half-dead.” The mage wiggled his fingers and twisted his hands until his wrists cracked, “Well, she stopped you from bleeding half to death, but that's about it,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Cullen, “That damn woman can wield a spirit blade to rival any magister, but her healing spells leave much to be desired I'm afraid. Lucky for you, I'm here.”

Dorian placed both hands on Cullen's injury, and Cullen felt the magic flow into him. Dorian's magic had an entirely different feel to Ellana's; it felt louder somehow, brash where Ellana's was light. The sensation wasn't overly unpleasant, but the feel of it made him strangely lonely for her, and intensified his concern for her.

A few seconds later and the pain had become a dull ache.

“Now, you sit there and -” Cullen ignored Dorian's words, and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, “Or, you could just ignore the man that healed you, what do I know? I only — whoa, steady!” Dorian caught him just as his knees gave out, and threw Cullen's arm over his shoulder,

“I have to find her, Dorian.” Cullen said, wavering on his feet as the world span around him,

“And you will, as soon as you can stand. I'm quite amazed you're on your feet.”

Cullen glanced down to where he'd been lying, it wasn't until he saw the pool of his own blood soaking into the dirt floor that he realised just how close to death he'd come.

“Makers breath,” he muttered, “She saved my life.”

“Of course she did,” Dorian said with a roll of his eyes, “I seem to remember you saving hers on more than one occasion.”

“But she could have gotten away.”

“No, she couldn't.”

“She made a deal with their leader, they -”

“You misunderstand me,” Dorian said, shaking his head, “She couldn't have left you to save herself any more than you could have left her had your roles been reversed.”

“That's different,” Cullen scowled, “She has responsibilities outside us; she's The Inquisitor and -”

“And a woman that loves you,” Dorian said sternly, “Don't belittle her sacrifice by saying she shouldn't have bothered. It was her decision, she chose you.”

“Sacrifice?” Cullen huffed bitterly, “I'm really starting to hate that word.”

“You're not the only one, my friend.”

Slowly Dorian helped him limp towards a door, but before they'd reached it the door opened and the others trundled dejectedly through, Bull kicked it closed behind them. They were sporting a host of injuries, but it wasn't the wounds that were causing the downcast eyes and the listless way their weapons hung at their sides.

In his heart-of-hearts, Cullen had known she wouldn't be with them, The Believers hadn't gone to all this trouble without having a plan for their escape, but that didn't make the reality hurt any less,

“It's a blighted Deep Roads entrance,” Varric said, he swung Bianca back into the harness on his back, freeing his hand to stem the flow of blood that oozed from his nose,

“So?” Dorian asked,

“So it could go on for miles and the damn Vints collapsed the tunnel behind them, it'd take weeks to cart all the crap outta the way.” Bull answered, the large qunari's hands flexed around his giant axe a few times before he launched it across the amphitheatre, muttering curses under his breath,

“The Deep Roads stretch from one end of Thedas to the other,” Varric explained, “Sorry Curly, if our boys are in there, then they could quite literally be anywhere. A lot of it is still unmapped and it's dangerous, they've been planning this shit for months.”

“What the hell do we do now?” Bull asked, looking toward Cullen.

 _How in the Makers name should I know??_ Cullen thought. The vast majority of his brain had been taken over by panic. He was having to make an effort not to tell them to start digging, no matter how long it would take.

_Tranquil. Dorian said they were going to make her tranquil._

He squashed the panic that tried to smother the logic. It burrowed into his stomach like a rat, a gnawing little rat that constricted his breathing and made it hard to think. He pushed it back down.

 _They'll make her tranquil_ _ **eventually.**_ He amended. The Believers couldn't possibly know how the anchor would react to being cut off from the fade, tranquillity would be a last resort. They wouldn't risk killing her, or they'd lose the anchor, but there were plenty of things that they could do to try and make Ellana use the anchor that wouldn't result in loss of life.

_If they harm one hair on her head..._

The panic rat gnawed again.

_No, that isn't helping._

The others were still looking at him. Looking to him for orders, for guidance. Cullen felt like the last person in the world that should be giving it to them.

He cleared his throat, “Rylen will arrive soon with the soldiers, we'll take him with us, the troops can stay here to protect the village and keep watch in case The Believers come back. For now, let's return to Skyhold and regroup. We're going to need a new plan.”

 

***

 

 _Coming up here was a bad idea,_ Cullen thought.

He'd let his feet carry him up and out onto the roof-top training ground of their own accord, apparently his feet had very poor decision-making skills.

He'd been looking for somewhere to clear his head, somewhere to let his emotions loose a little, so he'd be able to think, to plan and strategise. At least that's what he'd told himself, but this place held far too many memories, he'd known that from the instant he'd opened the roof hatch, his gaze passing over the marquee. He'd very intentionally not looked at the pile of overstuffed pillows and blankets.

He should have turned right around and gone back downstairs, but he hadn't. He needed to hit something, Cullen didn't think he'd ever needed to hit something quite as badly as he did at that moment. The Believers attacking South Reach, when Ellana and the others had been lost in the fade at Adament, when the avalanche had buried Haven. He'd thought he'd known what helpless felt like. He'd had no idea.

The meeting they'd had earlier in The Den certainly hadn't helped;

“My agents have scouted the area of each burned out village,” Leliana had said once they had all found their seats at the over-large table. Drinks had been passed into waiting hands, though they hadn't needed to wait for quiet to fall on the room before starting this meeting. The group had been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd returned to Skyhold, “They've discovered a Deep Roads entrance near each one,” she continued, “This is how they seemed to appear from thin air and disappear again just as quickly after each attack, they were vanishing underground. They only needed to use each entrance once, so they've been collapsing the tunnels behind themselves. Upon further examination, you can see where the rocks have been recently moved. There was a similar entrance near the cabin they chose for the rendezvous at The Storm Coast. It appears the villages were not chosen at random at all, they were chosen for their proximity to a Deep Roads entrance.”

Cullen had been told all of this before; Leliana had spoken to him alone in his office, for which he'd been immensely grateful. He'd managed to keep his anger and frustration in check, but it had been a close thing. He wanted — needed — someone else to blame. He doubted he'd have managed half as well learning this information in The Den with the others. Not with the ridiculous murals staring down at him from the walls, accusing him. Not with Ellana's glass sat unused on the table. Certainly not with the yawning space next to him that she usually filled. Twice he'd reached under the table to touch her leg, his fingers meeting only empty air. The cramped room didn't leave him enough space to stalk the floor as he wanted, so he'd had to content himself with keeping his arms on the table, rolling his empty tumbler between his palms.

“If they've been using the Deep Roads to move around, then how did we find out they were marching on South Reach?” Varric had asked. Leliana's composure had almost cracked at the question, she'd cleared her throat and tilted her chin up,

“A group on the surface deliberately allowed my agents to overhear them,” Leliana answered. The tone of her voice had been logical to the point of coldness, but Cullen knew this was a habit that she and Ellana shared. When their spymaster had delivered the news to him in his office, the anger and regret in her voice had been plain as day. Her voice had cracked, she'd told him she was sorry, Cullen hadn't wanted to hear it, this was far more his fault than it was hers. Leliana had reacted the same way after Haven had been attacked by Corypheus; angry with herself over things she felt she could, or should, have done differently. Cullen couldn't deny that there was plenty of that going around,

“They played us,” Cullen said, speaking for the first time. His voice was slightly croaky from not being used, he'd barely spoken a word since they'd returned from South Reach, “They knew Ellana wouldn't let them attack another village while she had the power to stop them, using my family was just added motivation.”

“Then why the frig did they attack the other villages?” Sera had asked from her usual spot on the back of her chair. She had recovered from the sleeping spell with no ill-effect except a deepening resentment toward magic,

“Two reasons: one, to make sure we took them seriously as a threat. And two, for the same reason they killed the scouts at The Storm Coast. To make sure we were too tired and angry to see through their plan. It's no accident that we got word of them marching on South Reach on the same night we returned from The Storm Coast. Between rushing there and back, and then to South Reach, we hadn't slept in days.” Cullen explained, he still wasn't sure which of the two reasons was worse: so much death,

“Wait,” Varric said, holding up his hands, “I thought the scouts at The Storm Coast were killed because we didn't send 'Lea to the meeting point alone?”

“That's what we were supposed to think,” Cullen said through gritted teeth, the glass in his palms gave a creak as his hands flexed — _Makers breath, I'm a fool for not seeing it —_ “We'd never have sent her alone, they knew that and played on it. The scouts had actually been dead for days before we arrived. They used mortalitasi techniques to preserve the bodies. We didn't know until the bodies arrived back at Skyhold, by that point it was too late; the battle at South Reach was already over.”

“So the bastards are smart as well as bat-shit insane, we knew that already. How do we get the Boss back? What's the plan?” Bull had asked.

As if on cue, as though they had somehow prearranged it, they all turned in their seats to look at Cullen. He almost glanced behind him to see what they were all looking at before he realised that they were talking to him.

_Plan? PLAN?? There isn't any Maker forsaken plan._

White noise had begun to ring in his ears, the world had seemed to tilt on its axis and his pulse had hammered thickly in his throat as realisation dawned. They were asking him, _him,_ what to do. He'd seen that look on their faces before, but never turned in his direction. That was the look they directed at Ellana.

 

Night had fallen at some point; stars, cold and uncaring, looked down at him on the roof of one of Skyhold's towers. Cullen hadn't noticed the passage of time.

He was panting hard when he let his old training sword fall from his hand to clatter against the stone. The injury on his side was still healing and burned from the exertion. The tattered remains of their third, and final, dummy lay at his feet. His arms and shoulders ached, but the usual satisfaction was absent, instead he was just tired and despondent.

At least some of the useless urgency that had been flooded his body had left him. That urgency was useless. They were in this mess in the first place because they'd attacked without thinking everything through. He wasn't going to make the same mistake a second time.

He might _want_ to tear Thedas apart with his bare hands, he might _want_ to send every member of The Inquisition on a blind trek through the Deep Roads. That was the panic rat talking. It wouldn't help. He knew it wouldn't help, but that didn't stop the wanting.

Of course, the problem was; they'd already been exhausting their resources trying to find The Believers in the first place. They'd been getting nowhere before, and nothing had changed in that regard. They were in the exact same position as before. They had no new information, no miraculous clue or lead had suddenly appeared out of the ether. Now they were unlikely to get one. The only difference was that now The Believers had Ellana.

Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck, absently working the muscles without thought and barely noticing the accompanying headache.

Now that The Believers had what they wanted there would be no new village attacks, no more notes, they'd go to ground. The Inquisition may very well never hear from them again,

“Feel better?” asked a voice behind him, turning he saw Dorian and Varric leaning side-by-side against the battlements. Cullen had no idea how long they'd been stood there watching him,

“Not really,” he muttered, nudging the now defunct dummy with his foot, it was nowhere near as satisfying to hit something that didn't hit back, “There may not be enough of these in Skyhold.”

“Curly, there may not be enough of them in Thedas.” Varric said, barking a short half-hearted laugh,

“What, exactly has got you up here? Aside from the obvious.” Dorian asked.

Cullen hesitated before answering, casting his gaze in the direction of where Haven lay, too dark to see at the moment, but the view didn't bring its usual peace, “I don't know what to do,” he admitted. The exercise had been good for something besides threatening to reopen his wounded side; even he could acknowledge the fact that he would never have confessed to such a thing had he not already worn himself to near exhaustion, “Everyone is looking at me as though they expect me to have all the answers, and I don't have them. Maker knows I wish I did, but I barely understand the question.”

Dorian and Varric exchanged a look that Cullen didn't have the energy to try to decipher,

“You know why though, right?” Varric asked slowly, “Why they're looking to you?”

“I have no idea.” Cullen huffed,

Varric leant back before whispering loudly to Dorian, “You know what? I don't think I want someone this dense leading us.”

“Oh? And I suppose you know exactly what we should be doing?” Cullen asked dryly, “Fine, good. You be in charge if that's the case.”

“I imagine 'Lea felt much the same way, probably still does.”

“Well, I'm not her.” Cullen snapped,

“Perhaps not, but you're the closest we've got.” Dorian shot back. After a beat of awkward silence where Cullen glared at him over the roof, Dorian seemed to regret his tone. With a sigh, he pushed off the battlements and made his way over to the small table in the corner and poured the three of them a drink from Cullen's and Ellana's stash, “If you _ever_ tell Ell we told you this she will likely kill us in our beds, but do you truly not realise how highly she values your opinion? You _do_ know you've been running this thing together since the beginning?”

“No we haven't,” Cullen said with exasperation, “Ellana was always in charge, long before we named her Inquisitor. Leliana, Josephine and I only advised.”

“Ha, you think so?” Varric raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms over his chest, “Then I have a question for you; who did 'Lea trust to get the people out of Haven while she distracted Corypheus?”

“Who did she leave in charge of hunting Samson while she was running around The Emerald Graves?” Dorian chimed in,

“Wasn't it your troops that were sent to protect her clan when Duke what's-his-name attacked them?”

“Ooh, I've got one, how about -”

“Enough,” Cullen barked, cutting Dorian off mid-sentence, “Stop, just stop.”

Varric dropped his arms and shook his head, he was looking at Cullen with a mix of sympathy and dark humour, “Did you ever ask 'Lea why she took you out of the fight when Corypheus attacked the last time?”

“It was pretty self-explanatory, Varric.” Cullen huffed, he'd been angry as hell at the time. They'd all headed down to the battlefield together, when Corypheus had lifted half of Haven into the air Ellana had sent Cullen, along with most of the others, back to the ground with her magic. Cullen had been less than pleased, “That damned protective streak of hers is the bane of my existence.”

“That was part of it, sure,” Varric shrugged, “But mostly it was so you'd be there to carry on The Inquisition if she didn't come back.”

Cullen's gaze jumped from Varric to Dorian, waiting for the punchline. Dorian just smiled at him sadly before crossing the roof and pushing a drink into his hand, “I know, crazy isn't it? I'd have chosen me too, but you know how hard it is to talk Ell out of something once she's made her mind up, she's nearly as stubborn as you are. Her death or capture was always a possibility, you think she somehow didn't know that? That she didn't prepare for it? It's been her plan since Haven, even before I met her, you were always supposed to take over if something happened to her.”

“Sorry Curly,” Varric said, looking genuinely sorry as he sauntered over to join them, “We thought you knew.”

Cullen downed the drink that Dorian had handed him, wincing a little at the strong liquor Dorian had chosen. This was insane, utterly insane, he decided. He had no idea how to run The Inquisition, he didn't even know where to start. Ellana, however, had apparently decided that — damn, he needed another drink. He looked at Varric and Dorian, who both looked back at him expectantly, he had no idea what to say,

 _What do we say around here when we don't know what else to say?_ Ellana's voice asked in his head,

“Well, shit.” he muttered.

With a sigh he scooped up his fallen sword, walked over to the table and lowered himself on to one of the seats, Dorian and Varric in tow,

“It's not like you haven't done anything like this before,” Varric said once they all had fresh drinks, “You practically ran Kirkwall's Templars.”

“And look how that turned out,” Cullen scoffed, rubbing the patch of skin between his eyes. Kirkwall's Templars had been an unequivocal disaster. It had been a mess long before he'd arrived in the city, and had only become worse in the time he'd spent there, “I don't think we should be modelling The Inquisition after the Templars. Especially Kirkwall's.”

“You didn't have us to help you then.” Dorian said,

“Oh, lucky me.”

Ellana was the people person, he took care of the numbers. That was how they worked, how they'd always worked. He could strategically manage large groups, he could move markers over a map and know how a battle would play out. He knew which lines to press, when to push them forward and when to pull them back. This? This was nothing like that. She knew her little party of people better than he ever could. He didn't know how to lead them, _Maker,_ he didn't even want to. Even if he did, they wouldn't follow him, he was sure of it. According to Varric and Dorian, however, Ellana hadn't agreed.

“This isn't...” he looked at them helplessly, “This isn't the same as Kirkwall, Makers breath, it isn't even the same as Corypheus. We don't have a plan, we don't know where our enemy is. We don't even have a place to start.”

Dorian shook his head, “As far as I can tell, The Inquisition has always run on the power of bullshit. We've not known what we were doing a disproportionate amount of the time. And then we were trying to save the world by fighting a self-proclaimed god. By comparison, this should be easy. We just need a first step, so where do we start? What do we know?”

“We know they're using the blasted Deep Roads,” Varric said, “Which means they could be anywhere.”

Cullen nodded, that much was true; he'd heard tales of how vast the Deep Roads were, how much of the history and notoriety of the ancient thaigs was lost. The little known information was held in trust in Orzammar. Most of the Deep Roads held little interest for most surface dwellers, and even less fame. Something in Cullen's mind gave a twitch,

“No, wait. That's not right,” he said thoughtfully, Varric opened his mouth to argue, Cullen held his hand up to stop him with a nod, “Yes, yes, the Deep Roads run underneath all of Thedas, that much is true. But from what we know of The Believers, would “just anywhere” under Thedas do?”

“They're from Tevinter,” Dorian said, his lip curling in distaste, “Everything they've done has had some theatre to it, some dramatic effect; they used Ell's dagger in Haven when any old knife would have done the same job. Used your family to draw us to South Reach when they could have picked any village close to a Deep Roads entrance, even their name is cliched. They wouldn't just hold up in some abandoned thaig.”

“Exactly.” Cullen nodded,

Dorian waved his glass at him, swirling it in circles as he thought, “So we're looking for... what? Some underground tie to Corypheus? He _was_ a darkspawn, after all.”

“Maybe,” Cullen mused, “Or an underground tie to the Venatori at least.”

“Oh? Is that all?” Varric laughed, “We'll just ask one of the Venatori agents we have lying around then.”

“Wait,” Cullen said, his mind stuttering, Varric might have been joking but he might also be onto something, “We _can_ do that. Whatever happened to Alexius?”

“Hmm,” Dorian hummed next to him, “Now there's a thought. The Inquisitor had him studying with some of The Inquisition's scribes, I believe. Under heavy guard, of course, wouldn't want to risk him tearing time apart at the seams. Again.”

Cullen nodded, he remembered Ellana's judgement of the magister, he'd been very surprised when she'd chosen not to execute him, Cullen wouldn't have given it a second thought, “Alright, let's have him brought to Skyhold for a chat,” he thought a moment longer before adding, “Samson too.”

With the beginnings of a plan starting to form, Cullen expected to feel better; for it to kill the panic-rat. It didn't. His leg started to bounce up and down as he fought the impulse to rush off and start doing something, anything. He wanted to skip the planning part of the plan and get to work.

“I have something for you,” Dorian said. He finished his drink, pulled himself to his feet and made his way toward the hatch that led back down to the tower beneath them. When he returned he was holding a very full looking leather folder,

“What is it?” Cullen asked when Dorian handed it to him,

“I haven't read it, I swore on my pinkie that I wouldn't even peek. Ell left it for you if this situation ever arose. I _did_ say she prepared.”

“What was the plan if we both fell in battle?” Cullen asked. The folder was heavy, packed with paper to almost bursting, the leather cover was a warm, soft brown. He didn't open it. Whatever this folder was, something told him he'd want to be alone when he perused its contents,

“I was to pass it to Leliana, but only after removing the letter inside the front cover.”

Cullen swallowed hard, _the letter inside the front cover?_ He was suddenly doubly glad he hadn't opened it in front of the others.

 

 

 


	20. Things didn't go to plan.

Cullen paced the length of his office, from one door to the other. When he'd been on the roof with Dorian and Varric he'd wanted to be alone, to read the folder they'd given him in private. Now that they'd finally left him alone, he thought he'd rather have company. His mind was too full of thoughts;

_You should have known better._

_You walked them into a trap._

_You can't do this, they won't follow you._

_You should have been watching._

_You should have been more careful._

_You think they'll follow you after you lost their Inquisitor?_

_You should have fought harder._

_It was Ellana's idea to — don't you dare blame her, whatever they do to her, it will be your fault._

_You're never going to find her._

Being on his own meant he was alone with nothing but his continuous internal monologue. It was on a damn loop, singing a chorus in his head. On each loop a new fault was somehow added, there didn't seem to be enough things his mind wanted to accuse him of.

He passed back and forth in front of his heavy wooden desk, in no way, absolutely no way, thinking of how he'd once swept his belongings to the floor and thrown Ellana down on its surface.

With his long strides, it only took a few steps to clear the room.

How had he not noticed how small his office was before?

It was cramped. There was barely enough room to breathe.

And, Maker, it was warm.

_Was it always so warm in here?_ He wondered.

He paused his pacing long enough to throw open a window, letting the cold air of the mountains inside. It was very late, probably closer to dawn than dusk, the darkness of the valley stared back at him when he glanced outside. The normal blue light as it reflected off the snow on the Frostback mountains seemed strange tonight, it seemed lonely. The isolation and quiet that he normally found peaceful looked empty, the silence almost expectant.

Cullen had lit a solitary candle on his desk, the only light in the room. It flickered in the breeze from the open window, causing his shadow to waver on the wall. A ghostly shadow that kept him company in his pacing.

The exercise on the roof had done little to expel the excess energy he felt bubbling, frantic and distraught, in his stomach. The folder Dorian had passed onto him hadn't helped. It had obliterated any good he may have done himself by destroying the training dummies. The energy was fuelled by stress and low-level panic. That damn panic rat that would not stop gnawing at him no matter what he did, and only seemed to get worse when he stopped moving. No amount of exercise was going to stop that rat. The only thing that would satisfy it was spending that energy on hunting The Believers and bringing Ellana home.

The cold air on his face helped a little, but still, his cloak felt too heavy. A chain held it in place around his neck, tonight that chain felt incredibly tight. It lay uncomfortably across his throat, taut and choking.

_That_ was why he was struggling to breathe, he decided, _that_ was why he couldn't get enough air to fill his lungs.

He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that tried to remind him of the feeling of claustrophobia he'd felt during the worst of his lyrium withdrawal. The feeling of closed walls, the complete inability to settle when he was indoors, the panic attacks... Maker, he could write a book listing the symptoms that went with the panic attacks alone. He shook his head, that wasn't what was happening now. It wasn't.

With a slightly shaky hand, he loosened the chain that held his cloak in place but didn't remove it from his shoulders. It would be too close to admitting something was happening that clearly wasn't.

He turned again when he reached the wall, turning sharply to pace in the other direction, his heart racing far too fast in his chest. His heart seemed to be under the impression that he was fighting a battle, instead of doing nothing more than walking in his office. It hammered so hard and fast that he half expected it to burst from his chest at any moment.

The walls were closer than they used to be, he was sure of it.

Almost against his will, Cullen found his gaze pulled back to the folder sat harmlessly on his desk. He hadn't opened it yet. He had no idea what information it might contain.

That Ellana had prepared so thoroughly for this eventuality shouldn't have come as such a surprise. He should have known, should have predicted, that she'd do something like this. He was surprised nonetheless.

Some part of him had always believed that no matter what happened to the rest of them, it would always be her that survived. That Corypheus could bring the sky down, that the land could be overrun by demons, but somehow it would be her left standing at the end. It was a belief that Ellana, evidentially, hadn't shared.

He glared at the folder again as he walked; the physical embodiment of just how wrong his belief had been.

He tugged his gloves off with his teeth and tossed them down onto his desk next to the folder. In sharp contrast to the rest of him, his hands felt cold. His fingers tingled as though his gloves had become too tight. He flexed his hands, trying to draw the blood into his fingertips, but quickly gave up when it didn't help. Damn panic rat. Bringing one hand to the back of his neck as he walked, he tried to search out the little bundle of nerves that Ellana could find and manipulate so easily. It sat just below the skin, but when he pressed and kneaded the spot nothing happened. It didn't work when he tried to do it himself. The muscles under his fingers were as hard as stone, solid and unyielding, far worse than they had been since the lyrium withdrawal.

He tried to force the tension from his shoulders and his neck to relax. Neither listened to him.

Veering from his path, he stepped behind his desk and grabbed a bottle and glass from the shelf behind. Without bothering to read the label he poured a healthy measure of some sweet-smelling amber liquid into the glass. Ripples spread across the smooth surface of the alcohol in miniature waves, Cullen looked at the glass in surprise, those traitorous little waves that lapped at the tumbler revealed just how badly his hands were shaking, he hadn't even noticed. Breathing slowly, he focused on forcing his hands to be still. By the tiniest degrees, the ripples slowed then stopped entirely. Only then did he allow himself a small sip. The mead burned his throat on the way down.

His gaze rested back on the folder. The leather binding had a few scratches and scuffs but otherwise was unremarkable.

_You can pace around here until dawn if that's what you want. But the folder will still be there, you can't put it off forever, Cullen, s_ aid a new voice — that sounded remarkably like Ellana's — in his head. _It's just a folder._

_It's not just a folder,_ he told the voice, _it's -_

_Just a folder._ A little amusement had worked its way into the voice, _you think I packed the thing full of spiders? It's just a folder. And staring at the blasted thing isn't going to make it go away._

He sank into his chair with a sigh. The voice had a point. No amount of glares — or mead, for that matter — was going to make the folder disappear.

He brushed a hand gently down the cover. The brown leather was soft from handling, just how long had she had this, anyway?

His heart seemed to have migrated to his throat, his pulse thudded sickly, still too hard and fast. Carefully he unwrapped the leather tie that held the folder closed. Lying on the first page was an envelope. The front was blank, the paper a stark white. He broke the seal with a thumb, quickly withdrawing the pages inside before he changed his mind. Ellana's neat cursive looked up at him. Cullen took another sip of his drink, moved the candle closer and began to read.

 

 

_Dear C._

 

_So, I take it things didn't quite go to plan?_

_I'm guessing I did one of the numerous stupid things you always said would get me killed one of these days?_

_Well, don't be smug about it, it's not becoming._

_I've honestly lost count of how many times I've written this letter only for it to end up on the fire once we returned to Skyhold. There's been one for every occasion I wasn't totally sure we were going to make it back. That was more often than I'd like to admit. It was bound to reach you eventually, and for that, I'm more sorry than you'll ever know._

_I'm going to tell you something that you're not going to like, but keep an open mind, there is a point behind my ramblings, I promise. So, have you noticed that everyone in Skyhold represents a different side of The Inquisition? I can almost see you rolling your eyes as I write this, but hear me out. Leliana is our subtlety, Josie our nobility, Cass is our faith, and you're our strength. Dorian, Bull, Varric, everyone. You all bring something unique, some small part of The Inquisition that comes from each of you._

_I have a confession to make: for the longest time I couldn't figure out what I brought to The Inquisition. I had the anchor, but that was an accident. I was only there because I walked through the wrong door (or the right door, I like to think it was the right door, Gods, I like to think it was the right door) at the exact wrong (or right) time, and was daft enough to pick up a glowing orb. That's all I was; just the body the anchor was attached to._

_Then, one day, I was walking through the kitchens and I saw the cook adding a root to a stew and I stopped her. Vivienne was allergic to that root, she'd had an awful rash the last time we'd eaten it. That was when it dawned on me. **That** was it, that's what I had that the rest of you didn't. Stood alone, each of you was strong, each had your own unique quality that you brought with you. And I had you. All of you, linked together._

_The anchor might have been an accident, a fluke of fate mixed with a little bad timing. But it wasn't about the anchor. It was about all of you. Shall I let you in on a secret? That is the real reason Corypheus failed. It wasn't **his** weakness, it was **our** strength. It wasn't Corypheus or the anchor that tied us together, it was the choices we made, what we did because of who we are. Our brotherhood, our family, tested in fire, is so much stronger than you can imagine. Soldiers without a bond are merely men lined up on a battlefield, it's the bond that makes them brothers. It's our bond that makes us family._

_So this is my gift to you: this file is us._

_This is the result of months of conversations, listening and watching. Here you'll find tactics, squad configurations, strengths, weaknesses, all of it._

_I've included everything I can think of, from who works well together to where Dorian hides his stash of Tevinter wine. There was a whole section on how to prepare Solas' tea so that he'll drink it without pulling that face — you know the face I mean, don't pretend you don't — but I took his section out. You should find everything else useful._

_In short, this is the rule book on how to lead these people that were once mine, as I was theirs, and have now become yours._

_Please, look after them for me._

 

_I know what you're thinking, I always know what you're thinking. And you're just going to have to trust me when I say that you can do this._

_There is an old mantra that the Dalish hunters use, it's called the Vir Tanadhal, The way of the three trees;_

_Vir Assan,_

_Vir Bor'assan,_

_Vir Adahlen._

_It means;_

_Fly straight and do not waver,_

_Bend but never break,_

_Together we are stronger than the one._

 

_This is what you need to do now._

_I've always told you that you're stronger than you think you are, I know it, and they know it. It's time you knew it yourself. You **can** lead them, and they **will** follow you. Not because of me, not because I want them to._

_They'll follow you, because you're you._

_Trust in yourself, as I always have._

 

_Whatever happens now, I want you to know that walking through that right door at the right time was the best thing that ever happened to me, because it led me to you. I love you, I always will, and I'll be walking with you, wherever you go, you'll never be alone._

 

_Irassal me ghilas, ma garas mir renan, ara ma'athlan vhenas, ma vhenan._

_Wherever you shall go, follow my voice, I will call you home, my heart._

 

_Whether in this world or the next I am, as always, yours,_

_Ellana._

 

Cullen's hand tightened around the tumbler until the glass gave an ominous creak. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, he brushed them away with the heel of his hand.

She somehow always knew what he needed.

 


	21. What if...

Ellana watched aghast as The Believers collapsed the tunnel. They didn't even need to use magic; explosives and charges were already set up. The sheer amount of planning they must have gone through — the village attacks, the Storm Coast cabin, South Reach, then getting her into this tunnel — she shook her head, barely able to get her mind around it. The moment they'd passed through the door, they had set the charges to blow. The noise had been deafening in the narrow tunnel, dust blew around her, landing in her mouth, flying up her nose and resting in her hair. Once the dust had settled the door was gone, she wouldn't have believed it had ever been there had she not seen it with her own eyes just a few seconds before.

She stared at the fallen rock. Her heart, that had been beating so heavily just a few moments earlier, had sunk to the region of her stomach; she'd never get back through there if she had an eternity to dig. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out to brush them against the stone, thinking of those trapped on the other side,

_We're here, we're safe, and I'll never let them hurt you._

_How would you stop them?_

_However I had to._

She'd kept her word, she just hoped it had been enough.

She took a small step forward and rested her forehead against the cold stone, her eyes slowly closing.

_Gods, please let it have been enough._

One of The Believer warriors nudged her sharply with his shield, he grunted and tilted his chin in the opposite direction, away from the now destroyed door and further down the tunnel. She had half a mind to refuse to move, but she also knew that they'd drag her down the path if need be; her pride wouldn't let that happen. She met the warrior's eyes and lifted her chin defiantly. Then, with one last backward glance, she began to walk.

 

The quiet in the large party surprised Ellana, she had thought it a temporary thing when they left the collapsed doorway, that perhaps they were expecting to be set upon by Inquisition forces and didn't want to give away their position. She prepared herself for their ridicule, for gloating at the very least. She'd have thought The Believers would be happy, that they'd rub her nose in their victory, revel in it, in fact. The gloating had never come, there had been no attempt to humiliate her, or degrade her, they barely seemed to notice she was there at all. They had remained serious, almost solemn, long after they'd left South Reach behind them.

The Believers had earned their right to gloat, as far as Ellana was concerned. For all her earnest passion and Cullen's careful planning, they'd been well and truly duped. But The Believers were almost silent as they led her further into the tunnels. It wasn't out of respect for her, she wasn't fool enough to think that even for a moment. They simply didn't care that they'd beaten her and The Inquisition, they only cared for the anchor. It was an object, she was just along for the ride.

She was walking toward the rear of the group with some of their more heavily equipped warriors, but they soon started to jostle her forward until she walked at the front of the group with their leader,

“Do I need to have your hands bound, Inquisitor?” he asked, the amusement that he's shown earlier in the amphitheatre still tinged his voice.

Ellana exaggerated her movements as she turned to look over her shoulder at the large group of enemies walking right behind them, “I don't think that will be necessary,” she replied, forcing her tone as light and care-free as she could manage under the circumstances.

Her mind kept trying to pull itself back to Cullen and the pool of blood she'd left him in. She had never been very good at healing spells, if Dorian didn't reach him quickly, then — no, she refused to think about it. She'd stopped the bleeding, she was sure of it, that would be enough. It would _have_ to be enough.

She forced her mind to remain in the here and now, to think about the predicament she was now in, and turned to look at the man next to her. He wasn't much taller than she was; slim build, narrow shoulders with a long, slender neck. In a physical confrontation, she was fairly sure she could best him. Not, however, while they were surrounded by his followers, and especially not with her mana so depleted,

“At least not necessary for the moment, hmm?” he said, his small smile had a knowing edge to it, as though the man knew exactly what she was thinking. His hood still hid most of his upper face, his eyes were almost invisible, even so, Ellana was sure she didn't know him; a shame, it made him unpredictable.

Ellana fell, as she so often did, back into the confidence of her Inquisitor mask. Her greatest weapon and armour rolled into one. For now, she'd play his game, it wasn't as though she had much of a choice either way. If this mage wanted to play a battle of wits and words, then she'd give him one. She'd honed these skills in the Great Game, in the halls of the Winter Palace, she'd been trained by some of the games greatest players. If he wanted to play, then she'd play.

Her Inquisitor mask firmly in place she added an extra swagger to her walk, an extra little sway to her hips, and pushed her hands casually into the pockets of her leather coat to hide her damp palms and active fingers. For all the world it looked as though they were going for a friendly stroll,

“Unless you were to give me a satchel full of lyrium potions and return my staff, then I think I'd be pretty foolish to attempt to take you all on,” she shrugged and forced a nonchalant smile onto her face, “Maybe later.”

The mage chuckled, “I am Magister Manius Gessius.”

“Truly?” Ellana winced, “Wow, you really had no chance at all, did you? Did your parents just want you to be evil? Or did you just choose to be since you already have the name for it?”

Gessius chuckled again, clapping his hands together gently. The skin on his hands was much paler than the others she had met from Tevinter, they had a too-smooth look to them that made Ellana's skin crawl, she had to hide the shiver that made its way down her spine. His palms looked to be barely lined at all,

“I've heard much about you, Inquisitor.”

“I get that a lot,” she sighed dramatically, “The constant worship and adoration grows tiresome after a while, so please, don't bow.”

Gessius turned his head to look at her, and Ellana saw his eyes properly for the first time; a flat pale grey with barely any expression at all, “Ah, that famed Inquisitor arrogance, and so early too. Your arrogance has been brought to my attention on more than one occasion.”

“I think your former boss had me beaten on that one, I'm afraid. Is being arrogant a prerequisite for someone from Tevinter?” she asked, trying to poke him about his homeland, trying to feel this stranger out,

“Is arrogance truly arrogance if it is earned, Inquisitor?” his voice hadn't changed in inflection, the slight amusement was still there, mocking her, as though he knew something that she didn't. She felt herself want to frown, but didn't allow the expression to form,

“I only know one person from Tevinter well, an admiral man on all fronts; brave, intelligent, with a moustache that even I'm jealous of, but Creators, he has the ego of at least three Fereldens.”

_Fenedhis Dorian, you had better be alright, I will kick your ass if you're – just, please, be alright._

Her Inquisitor mask betrayed none of her inner-turmoil, none of her worry about her adopted family, as she strolled along next to the magister. The small smile she could see under his hood hadn't so much as twitched as she'd attempted to needle him, so she pushed a little harder,

“Well, Manny — can I call you Manny? — well, Manny, that was Corypheus' major downfall, you know,” she continued, “He always assumed he'd win, that we were nothing. Pests to simply be cast aside. It didn't work out for him, as I'm sure you recall. A self-proclaimed Magister God, killed by a nobody elf from the Free Marches? A rather large fall from grace, wouldn't you agree? Almost pathetic, when you think about it. That must have stung, I'm sure.”

Gessius tutted at her and waved one of his too-pale, too-long fingers, “Ahh, Inquisitor, are you trying to elicit an emotional response from me? Trying to make me angry, perhaps? That effort is a waste of your time and, I'm sure considerable, talents.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying.” she shrugged, then with a little spin she turned to walk backwards, keeping pace with the magister while watching the others behind them. If she wasn't having any luck with Magister Gessius, then she certainly wasn't short of other targets; the tunnel behind them was full of people that would work just as well, “I would expect you to be angry, after all,” she continued, “I mean, The Inquisition stopped Corypheus, halted his plans to sunder the veil. So you come up with this whole new plan to get me to reopen The Breach, which is utterly ludicrous, by the way. I couldn't reopen The Breach, even if I wanted to, which I obviously don't, because I'm, you know, not crazy.” There wasn't even a flicker of emotion in any of them, Ellana narrowed her eyes and tried again, taking a different angle, “Marching on South Reach was a nice touch though, I must admit. Using the village our Commander's family lives in to force our hand? Very nice. We did take a lot of you out though, how many do you think we killed? Twenty? Thirty? The Commander and I must have taken down at least a dozen between us. I have to wonder how many of them were friends of yours? Family even? All left in the dirt.” Still nothing, she pushed one more time, “Did you know that The Inquisition doesn't bother to burn the dead of our enemies?”

There it was! At last! One of the warriors fisted his hand around the pommel of his sword, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Ellana forced the largest smile she could muster onto her face, beaming at him while he looked as though he'd like nothing more than to draw his sword and run her through. A weak-link. Perfect.

 

It hadn't taken Ellana long to realise they were in the Deep Roads. The architecture changed by inches. The longer they walked, the more it changed. After a while, she started to notice the dwarven carvings on the walls, nothing as flashy as statues of paragons, but the shapes of the runes and lettering had the right shape. Eventually, it transformed from rough walls and uneven walkways to great chambers that must have been incredibly grand when the dwarves still ruled.

They'd kept her walking through the Deep Roads for hours. In the absence of daylight, it was impossible to guess just how late it was when Gessius finally called a halt to their march. Ellana was exhausted; she'd been travelling and fighting for days on virtually no sleep. Her legs and back ached from the constant walking, and she had a monster of a headache from forcing herself to maintain her Inquisitor mask and denying herself from feeling the emotions that her mask hid. But she'd be damned if she let The Believers know that. They could make her walk until she collapsed from exhaustion, there was no way she would request a break, her pride demanded that she die first.

When they'd first started this journey, she had thought to attempt escape as soon as they made camp, but after the third time their large party had been set upon by darkspawn she had revised her plan. That was even before she discovered just had vast and maze-like the Deep Roads truly were. Even if she was able to escape, even if she somehow managed to avoid the darkspawn, she could spend weeks down here trying to navigate these paths and find herself no closer to the surface. She'd thought Varric's tales of the Deep Roads were exaggerated — in her defence, most of his stories were — but on this occasion, he had been completely right.

Her new plan was to wait until they reached wherever The Believers had their headquarters and escape from there.

Ellana had very intentionally not asked Gessius where they were taking her, another thing she refused to ask out of pride. She was starting to get a feel for the magister; he may call her arrogant, but his ego rivalled that of even Corypheus. She could almost feel him silently begging her to ask, just so he could refuse to answer and have one more ounce of power over her. Ellana didn't give him the satisfaction. On the contrary, she had been the perfect prisoner. No attempt at escape, no asking for a break in their trek, she hadn't so much as raised her voice. Instead, she had talked benignly and cheerfully on every topic she could think of, all the while keeping an eye on her weak-link warrior. She'd watched him get angrier and angrier with every new topic.

Now that they had made camp for a few hours, they had finally bound her hands and feet. Rough rope looped tightly around each wrist, with a few feet of slack between them. It was entirely symbolic; they knew as well as she did that running now would be suicide. She would go to any lengths necessary to stop them from using the anchor, but she was far from the point of giving up on escape.

Once they had her tied up, however, they finally left her alone, which was extremely welcome. The forced nonchalance and bravado was becoming harder and harder to maintain. Now she was free to finally allow herself to feel the fear and grief that she had been trying to ignore since they'd left that thrice-damned chamber in South Reach.

How had she let this happen? She should have been more careful. How many times had Cullen told her, begged her, to be more careful? And what had she done? She'd walked them into a trap.

Were the others alright? Sera had been out cold when Cullen had dragged her away from the fight. She'd seen Cole pull Sera out of the battle, but what if she hadn't just been unconscious after all? They had been outnumbered long before Sera had been taken out of the fight. What if...

There were so many what-ifs that she felt she was drowning in them.

What if they had all died in the fighting?

What if The Believers had closed them inside that dilapidated building somehow?

What if...

What if...

What if the magister had lied about letting them leave?

No, if they'd been killed then he'd have said. Gessius wouldn't have been able to resist telling her, right? She wasn't sure. The magister was more adept at the game than she had been expecting. He hadn't shown any sort of emotion except for amusement, no matter how much she had prodded and poked him.

_Shit, Sera. I'm so sorry for dragging you into this. All of you. I'm so very, very sorry._

As casually as she was able, she rolled onto her side and pressed herself tight against the wall she had been leaning on. Making as little noise as possible lest The Believers deprive her of her most precious possession, she carefully tugged the coin she had on a chain around her neck out of the front of her tunic. Cullen's lucky coin. It had been months since he'd first fastened it around her neck, and she'd never removed it once in that time.

What if her healing spell hadn't been enough?

What if Dorian hadn't reached him in time?

What if he was...

She tightened her fist around the coin as she tried to fight the tears that welled, sudden and painful, in her eyes.

She could still feel the heat of his blood under her hands as she tried to stop the bleeding from the gaping hold in his side, could still smell the coppery scent of his blood.

Had she done enough?

Had Dorian got to him in time?

She had no idea and, unless she got out of this, she'd never know. That was, perhaps, the worst of it; that she may have led the man she loved, above anyone else she had ever met, to his death, and she'd never know if he survived. She'd never get the chance to tell him she was sorry.

Despite her best efforts, the tears came. Hot and seemingly never-ending, they spilled from her lashes to run down her cheeks.

 


	22. We have nothing.

Somehow seconds turned to minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days. How many days had it been since their return to Skyhold, three? Four? It may very well be closer to a week. The days were bleeding into one. Cullen's fear on that first night had proved correct; no new information had come to light in the meantime. They'd found neither hide nor hair of The Believers seen since their disappearance in South Reach.

The waiting was intolerable. Every agent they had was combing the countryside for news, Alexius was already on his way to Skyhold. Logically, Cullen knew he was doing all he could, but the panic rat insisted there was something else, something more he could be doing. The damn panic rat that had taken up residence in Cullen's stomach had grown to the size of a nug. It left no room for food, and its constant gnawing prevented sleep. Not that he'd actually tried to sleep, there was too much to do. He'd made sure that every report going in or out of Skyhold passed through his hands, he poured over every word, looking for some clue, some mistake that someone might have missed. He hadn't found anything yet, _in the next one, it'll be in the next one,_ he told himself after every report had been bereft of any real information and put aside. Most of the previous night had seen him sat at his desk, once again reading the letter — now tucked safely in the inside pocket of his coat — and folder that Ellana had left for him, the rest of his time he'd spent pacing the floor, lost in thought and not noticing the room slowly lighten around him. He was still pacing now, reading a report as he walked, and it must be closer to midday than it was daybreak. The same back and forth path from one door of his office to the other, if it kept up much longer then he'd be walking in a trench.

 _If it keeps up much longer, then a trench in my office will be the least of my worries._ He scowled at himself.

The exhaustion did nothing to temper his irritability. As it had when he'd been going through the worst of the lyrium withdrawal, his temper had become noticeably shorter since his return to Skyhold. More than one messenger was avoiding him after pressing his thin veneer of patience past breaking point, and several scouts had chosen to pass their information to him through Leliana, rather than come directly to his office. A small part of him could acknowledge that he'd given them good reason to keep away, he'd been rather short with a few of them. Short might actually be giving the situation too little credit. He'd barked orders, scowled and done a very poor job of disguising just how close he'd come to losing his temper, something that was happening with alarming consistency. Another, much larger part of him, only grew angrier.

Why were the day-to-day duties of Skyhold being performed? Why did it matter if beds were made, floors swept and the endless stream of nobles fed? If The Believers plan came to fruition then Maker only knew the havoc that could be unleashed. The blight itself was caused by magisters walking in the fade, was it possible something even worse could be released? Could they, in fact, tear down the veil itself? Nobody seemed to have the answer to that question.

 _And that's the reason you're hunting them with such conviction, is it?_ Asked a voice in the back of his mind, _no other reason at all? Perhaps, a little closer to home? A little less altruistic, and a lot more important to you?_

Even though Cullen still held a piece of paper in his hand, anyone that looked at him would be able to see he wasn't reading it. His eyes had become unfocused, he'd stopped pacing without noticing. Finding The Believers to prevent what they might do in the fade was secondary, he knew it even if he refused to say the words aloud. That was how he justified his near obsession with catching them, but in his heart he knew he was doing it to find and save her. That was what mattered most to him. New guilt, guilt caused by his own self-serving motivations, joined the guilt he already felt at having Ellana sacrifice herself to save him. It _should_ be about stopping The Believers, it _should_ be about protecting people from them. But it wasn't, at least not entirely. Not for him. If he didn't find The Believers in time, if they — _no, that's not helping._ If The Believers made her open the fade, then it was already too late. They needed to find them before that happened.

He shook himself, he wouldn't find them, or her, by standing still in the middle of his office. He focused back down at the paper in his hand again, and realised that he hadn't taken in a word of it. With a groan he closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his brain to re-engage. It was for times like this that he'd built their roof-top training area, a place to work off useless energy in a manner other than restless pacing. That particular avenue was closed for the time being, their roof-top sanctuary had the exact opposite effect on him at present. Pacing while reading would have to suffice. He shook his head again, and made himself focus on the scout's report he was holding. He'd only just made another short lap of his office when a sharp knock at his door interrupted him,

“Enter,” he barked, already annoyed by the interruption.

Rylen walked through, bringing fresh air with him into the stuffy office, a slim folder in his hands,

“The daily report, duty roster and guard reports from last night, Commander,” he said, putting the folder onto the increasing pile stacked up on the empty chair on the other side of Cullen's desk. Since Cullen had taken on most of Ellana's duties he'd had even less time for his own, Rylen had shouldered the extra responsibilities with barely a word of comment, much, Cullen suspected, to the relief of the recruits, “There's nothing of note.” Rylen continued, using code for 'you don't need to bother reading it', but Cullen was fairly sure he'd end up reading it anyway,

“Is there anything going outside Skyhold that I need to know about?” Cullen asked, barely looking up from the note in his hands,

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. But Leliana, Josie and the others are waiting for you in the War Room,” Rylen said, Cullen nodded, he hadn't realised how late the day had already gotten, afternoon was approaching quickly. Minutes turning into hours again. Rylen took a few steps toward the door before looking back cautiously, hesitant about poking an already angry commander. Cullen looked up at the pause in his friend's steps, his irritation must have shown on his face because Rylen glanced over Cullen's head before continuing, “I know this isn't the good news you were hoping for, but there is a bit of good news, if you're interested? The refugees just arrived.”

“Refugees?”

“Yes sir, all the refugees from village five, present and accounted for.”

Cullen's temper, always so close to the surface now, prickled in annoyance. At himself this time.

_With everything that had happened..._

He didn't finish the thought. Village five had been the one that Ellana and the others had found personally. The same one with the note about the rendezvous at The Storm Coast.

_And I'd forgotten they even existed. Dammit._

Cullen dismissed Rylen with a sharp nod, Rylen took a few steps closer to the window and opened the shutters, sunlight flooded into the room, making Cullen's ever-present headache spike painfully into his eyes, before turning on his heel and leaving.

 

Cullen was soon stood in front of the War Room table, with Leliana and Josephine on either side of him. Cullen's headache had only increased with every moment they'd spent in the room, his skull felt ready to crack open at any moment, every twinkle of light sent little bolts of pain through his eyes.

It felt as though they'd been in the War Room for hours. New map markers had been placed down as new people had joined the search for The Believers, others had been taken away as reports of 'no sighting' had arrived by the droves. Balled up pieces of paper scattered the floor as they'd plotted, schemed and planned, or, more accurately, _tried_ to plot, scheme and plan. The other members of The Inquisition had all given their reports and left, they were down to just Dorian, Varric and Bull. The only thing they could take as a positive from every piece of information they had scraped together was that it narrowed the search down, eliminating places The Believers weren't hiding. It was a very slim silver-lining that did nothing to improve Cullen's state of mind. Every time someone said they had nothing new to report but a dead-end, it fed the panic rat and made his stomach twist painfully,

“I've heard back from the charming Scout Harding,” Dorian said, looking remarkably unkempt, by Dorian's usual standard, at any rate. He rifled through the papers in his hand before passing Leliana the missive and moving a marker across the Western Approach, “She and her team went over every inch of the Still Ruins, but they haven't found anything. She's moving onto Coracvus next, she'll keep us updated.”

Cullen nodded mutely, his hands braced on the table and his head hanging low. The newest hit of lack of information landed on his shoulders, it felt like an almost physical thing weighing him down. He gritted his teeth against the annoyance until the impulse to snarl at them passed, and tilted his chin at Varric.

The dwarf shook his head, and threw Cullen a look of sympathy, “I had some people check out that Deep Roads entrance we found in The Hinterlands, the one Bianca showed us where they were carting out Red Lyrium, nothings been disturbed since we were last there, I'm thinking it's a dead end.”

“My agents in the Arbour Wilds say the same,” Leliana said with a nod, “They haven't seen any of the Sentinel Elves that we met while searching for The Well of Sorrows either, the place appears to be deserted. I'll keep them there for now, they'll notify us if anything changes.”

“So, we have nothing?” Cullen growled, lifting his head for the first time to meet each of their eyes. They each shook their heads, their gazes falling from his in turn. His hand formed a fist on the table as he fought with himself to keep a hold on his temper, “Do you have any idea what will happen if The Believers force Ellana to use the anchor?” he asked, his voice rising from a growl to begin to ring around the room, “What might happen if they physically enter the fade? Or what Maker forsaken things they might do to her in the meantime?”

Varric straightened, his feet shuffling, “Hey, take it easy Curly, we're all doing our best to -”

Cullen's fist slammed down on the desk, he felt himself slip as the last vestiges of his patience snapped and was ripped away, “Then do better! We have the largest standing army in Thedas at our disposal, the resources of a world-class peacekeeping organisation at our fingertips, and you're telling me we can't find one person? She saved the world, and we can't save her back? Is that what you're telling me?”

Dorian took a step forward, red rising in his cheeks, Bull made a grab for his shoulder but Dorian pushed him off, he approached the table with two large strides to point a finger in Cullen's face, “Don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only one that cares about Ell. You think you're the only one in this room that wants to find her?”

“You think it's the same thing? You have no idea, you -” Cullen leant forward, one hand braced on the table to point back at Dorian, when a new bolt of pain shot through his skull. Dizziness hit him just as hard, the ground seemed to tilt under his feet. He flung an arm out to catch himself on the table, sending map markers flying, and a new flare of agony scorched in his still-healing side,

“Cullen!” Josephine exclaimed,

“Clear the room.” Leliana said, her voice authoritative, leaving no room for argument. Cullen could vaguely hear the sound of footsteps, a moment later and the other two advisors were at his side. Josephine's hands hovered over his wound, but her impeccable manners prevented her from pushing his clothing aside without his permission. Leliana, on the other hand, had no such restraint, and she nudged Josephine's hands aside to lift his tunic.

“It's a wonder you didn't open this back up again,” Leliana muttered, she cursed under her breath as she prodded him gently through the bandages,

Josephine bobbed on the balls of her feet, looking over Leliana's shoulder with her hands wringing, “Is he alright? Should I send for the surgeon?”

“You could ask me,” Cullen ground out between his clenched teeth, “I am standing right here, after all.”

Josephine's dark eyes flitted up to meet his, “Are you well, Cullen?”

He waved a flippant hand, “It's a headache, nothing more.” he said, trying to put as much nonchalance into his voice as he could, judging by the look the two women shared he hadn't been very convincing. Their expressions were almost identical as they both rolled their eyes,

Leliana tutted as she replaced his tunic and straightened to place her hands on her hips, “And _that_ is why she doesn't ask you.”

“I'm fine.” he insisted,

Leliana shook her head with pursed lips, “You are not fine.”

Cullen opened his mouth to argue further, but Josephine reached out to pat his arm, “You're not fine, Cullen. It's alright, no one is expecting you to be fine.”

“No,” Cullen bit out, “They're expecting -”

“We're expecting you to bring our Inquisitor home,” Leliana said firmly, talking over him, “And you're not going to do that by yelling at Dorian and working yourself until you can barely stand.”

Josephine frowned at her friend, “What Leliana _means_ to say -”

“Leliana means exactly what Leliana is saying,” she said, returning Josephine's frown before turning back to him, “When was the last time you ate, Cullen? Maker, when was the last time you slept?” Cullen opened his mouth to answer when Leliana raised her hand to stop him, “And by slept I mean in a bed. Not a few seconds where you closed your eyes at your desk. Real sleep.”

“Why do you ask?” Cullen asked evasively while trying to avoid giving her the real answer,

“You're not yourself. I've never heard you so much as raise your voice in here before, we've had our disagreements, but not like this. People are afraid to knock at your office door.” Cullen opened his mouth to argue, already feeling a blush, half shame and half new anger, make its way up his neck, Leliana shot him a stern look and Cullen closed his mouth again to let her continue, “I know you're frustrated, I can't imagine how hard this is on you. But this? Shouting at those trying to help you?” she placed a hand on his wrist as her voice softened, “It's not like you. I know you have a lot on your mind — ”

“That's an understatement,” he huffed,

“ — but you're not doing any of us any good if you're too tired to think and snarling at anyone that comes too close. We need you if we're going to find Ellana, you're doing her a disservice by not looking after yourself. You can't do this all on your own, and you don't need to. Let us help you.” When he still looked reluctant Leliana leant back onto one hip and crossed her arms over her chest, “Do you think I am above slipping a sleeping draft into your coffee? I'll give you a choice, you can choose to go sleep for a few hours, or I'll have Adan mix a sleeping draft that will knock you out for a day and a half.”

“Leliana!” Josephine gasped,

“It's up to him,” Leliana shrugged, “We'll wake you if there's any news, if you go now.”

Cullen glanced around at the balled up pieces of paper sent to all four corners of the room, the toppled map markers, he could almost still hear his own voice echoing from the walls. Leliana was right, Ellana would be disappointed if she could see him right now, he rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed and embarrassed of himself, “You'll wake me?”

“If anything comes up,” Leliana nodded with a small smile, “I give you my word.”

Cullen closed the door gently behind him, leaving the other two advisors in the War Room,

“Would you really have put a sleeping draft in his coffee?” Josephine asked as soon as he was out the door,

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Leliana smiled at her old friend, “Just thank the Maker we don't need to find out.”

 


	23. I'm so lost.

Cullen hadn't had time to wonder where he was when the first person collided with the back of his shoulder. His weight was pushed to one side, and he would have fallen to the hard cobbles had he not been able to counter in time and catch his balance. He turned, his mouth open to rebuke whoever had bumped him, but the person was already leaving. They didn't stop, didn't acknowledge that they'd hit him at all. Before Cullen could utter a word, they'd disappeared into the crowd.

Cullen glanced around, he appeared to be in a town square of some kind. The cobbles under his feet were a deep bronze colour, the heat rose from them in waves, giving everything an other-worldly shimmer. A cloudless blue sky was over his head, the occasional gull gliding silently against the blue. That was all he could make out. The air was warm, close, and smelled of too many people crammed together.

Another person was making their way toward him, a young woman this time. Cullen watched her approach; a steady deliberate walk. She was dressed for the weather — unlike him baking in his warm cloak and heavy furs — her clothing was cotton and billowed around her on a breeze that Cullen couldn't feel. The woman was looking past him, at a point somewhere over his shoulder, her expression blank. She wasn't walking _toward_ him, he realised, she was walking _through_ him. She didn't deviate her course to walk around him, and at the last moment Cullen was forced to hop to the side to allow her passage, she carried on as though he wasn't there.

There were more of them now — _where are they all coming from? —_ dozens of people jostled him as he stood motionless in the moving throng of people.

They moved around each other as though it was part of a choreographed dance to which he'd forgotten the steps. They flowed around each other like water — _no, not like water,_ he corrected himself — like leaves on the wind. The slight twist of a shoulder, the smallest change in their paths. They didn't even brush against each other, hands or arms skimmed, missing each other by a breath. Each of their steps perfectly placed and precise.

Cullen watched them with an odd sense of loss in his chest, he felt as though he should somehow know how to move with them, how to flow with the crowd. Maybe once he _had_ known.

They moved with a purpose that he currently lacked, he had no idea how he'd found himself in the middle of this crowd, and even less of an idea of where he should go now that he was here. He was having to concentrate on just avoiding them as much as possible. Not one of them made eye contact or acknowledged his presence at all.

A little tingle of unease and frustration started to prickle the back of his neck; why were they ignoring him? What did they know that he did not? Where were they all going with such purpose and determination while he stood stuck in their midst?

Through a gap in the crowd Cullen spotted a wall to his left, a row of houses perhaps, walls made up of red, dusty looking stone. Dodging through the throngs of people, he started trying to make his way toward it. He wove through them as best he could, the air becoming more stifling by the moment as the crowd only seemed to swell. With slightly increasing desperation he forced and pushed his way through, but with every step he took he didn't seem to make any progress. The wall — a little safe haven of homes — was just as far away as it had when he'd started. Either he wasn't moving at all, or the wall was moving away from him. A ball of anxiety joined the frustration to mix uncomfortably in his gut. There was something drastically wrong here, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. There was something he was supposed to be doing, something important.

The crowd pressed in tighter, their dance continued without him as they glided gracefully around each other. There had been another dance once, there had been music, the gentle scent of flowers in the air and soft Orlesian music. It had been -

Someone else bumped into his back, and Cullen had finally had enough. Before they could disappear this time, he grasped the person by the shoulders. It was a young man, around eighteen years old. Cullen turned him until finally one of the expressionless strangers was forced to look him in the face,

“What is going on here? Where am I?” Cullen demanded. The young man stared at him blankly. Cullen was tempted to shake him, but resisted the impulse, instead he forced all the authority he possessed into his voice and tried again, “I asked you a question. Where am I?”

The man's expression didn't change. If he had heard Cullen at all then he was choosing to ignore him. Cullen's hands fell from the man's shoulders, and he immediately turned away from him and slipped back into the crowd.

_What was wrong with that man? What is wrong with all of them?_

Blank expression after blank expression passed him. Their faces almost as identical as their steps.

He grasped the arm of the next person to brush past him; an older woman, deep lines were set into her face and Cullen could see grey curls poking out from under the flannel hat she wore. She didn't try to pull from his grasp, but glancing down Cullen saw her feet were still moving, still dancing the dance of the crowd as she walked on the spot. She met his eyes, they were watery and had the slightly milky look of age, though no emotion graced her face. The woman didn't speak or react to the fact that he'd stopped her, just continued to walk her unmoving walk,

“What is this place?” he asked. He wasn't really expecting an answer at this point and was unsurprised when he didn't receive one. He let her go and watched her until she disappeared, weaving her way through the people around her.

Someone barged heavily into his back as realisation struck him. There was nothing wrong with them. _They_ weren't stuck here with no direction. _They_ knew exactly how to navigate this world. _They_ weren't the ones trapped rudderless in a crowd of strangers. It was _him_ that was wrong. He was all wrong. He didn't fit. How could he be so surrounded by people and yet feel so lost and alone?

The crowd pressed in tighter, almost crushing him between them. The air itself seemed to heat up in their presence. It was getting harder for him to breathe, every breath was a struggle and was filled with too many different scents. His chest felt heavy and constricted. And he was lost. _Maker, I'm so lost, where do I turn? Where -_

 

Cullen awoke with a jerk, his heart hammering in his chest, his tunic pasted to his back. Automatically he reached over to the other side of the bed to wrap his arm around Ellana, to take comfort in her warmth and reassure her that he was alright. It wasn't until he felt the cold on her side of the bed that he remembered that he was alone, and remembered why. A new wave of sadness and loneliness for her washed over him. He had slept for hours, much longer than he'd expected to, the room was beginning to darken with the coming night.

He was still mostly dressed, having only bothered to remove his cloak and boots before lying on top of the sheet in the old bedroom over his office. With a sigh he let himself fall back onto the cool pillows and rolled onto his side. He turned his face into her side of the bed, hoping to be able to pick up some of her scent left behind on her pillow. The scent had vanished at some point. He never had gotten around to repairing the roof in that room, the cold air that whipped around had removed all trace of her smell.

Something hard and cold pressed into his forehead, he lifted his head to find a silver coin on her pillow. He was sure it hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep, even as exhausted as he'd been, it was impossible to believe he wouldn't have seen it. He picked the coin up and rolled it between his fingers. This was the fourth time he'd found a silver coin in an unexpected place over the last few days. There was only one person he knew that could have slipped in and out of the room while he slept and not disturbed him. He pocketed the coin, pulled on his boots and went looking for Cole.

 

Cullen entered the Herald's Rest from the upstairs battlements, cutting through The Den — eyes averted from his and Ellana's portraits — and opening the upstairs door. At the top of the short flight of steps he saw Cole on the landing. Cole was leant on the railing, his elbows propped under him with his long fingered hands dangling over the edge. His head was bent low, his over-size hat hid his face as he looked down into the bar below.

Cole didn't so much as glance up as Cullen walked over and joined him. The bar was as loud as it always was, though the mood felt different from usual, the atmosphere felt almost forced. The loud voices that echoed up to where he and Cole stood were raised to be heard, but the usual revelry was missing. Maryden, the tavern's minstrel, was singing to the crowd as they drank, she had returned to the songs she'd written during the war, rather than the happier songs she'd written after their victory. Cole was watching her carefully, humming along tunelessly under his breath.

Looking down into the bar, Cullen could see Dorian, Varric and Bull sharing a table, and he felt a new flush of shame. Leliana's advice that he should sleep had been a good idea: dreams aside, he felt much better rested and clear-headed. He certainly had some bridges to rebuild there, but one thing at a time. Cullen slid the coin along the bannister until it was directly under Cole's nose, only then did the boy look up at him, “I take it this was you?” Cullen asked,

“I was a spirit,” Cole said, speaking slowly with a confused frown, “Then I was me. But I was never a coin.”

“No,” Cullen sighed and tried again, “I meant I take it that it's been you leaving these coins for me to find?”

“Is it not the right one? You were looking for a coin, I wanted to help you find it. I thought if I found the right coin then you'd go back to being quiet.”

“I've been loud?” Cullen winced, Cole hadn't been in the War Room, surely his shouting hadn't travelled that far, “I shouldn't have shouted, Cole. I apologise, but — ”

Cole huffed a quiet chuckle, “Not that kind of loud.”

“I've been some other sort of loud?” Cullen asked, becoming more confused with every word that Cole said, _I need to start bringing an interpreter,_ Cullen thought to himself,

“Conflict is always loud,” Cole turned from him to look back out over the bar, “Confident, clear, convinced, free from doubt, those are quiet. I can hear your conflict, confusion clashing where the confidence was. It's very loud. I thought if I found the coin then the conflict would stop.”

“But I haven't lost a coin.”

“You were thinking about a silver coin. You can't find it. I don't think I found the right one, the coin has a face, but a face without feeling. I feel the feeling, it's hard when there's no hurt. I see the feeling, not the face.”

“I don't think I understand.”

Cole's eyes became unfocused, “ _It feels heavy in my pocket, it's a foolish gesture, she'll laugh._ ” he said, his voice taking on the ethereal lilt it did when he was reading someone. Cullen swallowed, his hand forming a fist on the railing as he realised exactly what Cole had been trying to do, Cullen knew precisely when he was talking about, “It glitters in a gloved palm. _The only thing I kept from before, humour me._ She didn't laugh.”

“No, she didn't laugh,” Cullen sighed, he leant forward on the railing, his posture mimicking Cole's, “It's not — it's not the coin. It's Ellana.”

“Ellana isn't a coin.”

“No, Makers breath, no I know Ellana isn't a coin. I've been thinking about the coin she wears around her neck.”

“A coin given for luck,” Cole said slowly, Cullen could feel Cole's gaze on the side of his face, but he didn't turn to look at him, he just nodded, “But not really,” Cole continued, “A gift given for luck, but meant for love.”

“It was my lucky coin, I gave it to her.”

“I see now. I thought it was just a coin. Given twice, both for luck, but both for love too.”

Cullen didn't feel the need to respond, he wasn't sure what to say, after a few seconds he felt Cole's gaze return to looking out over the bar. Cullen looked at Dorian, Bull and Varric, still sat at their table,

“They'll forgive you,” Cole said, his voice soft so Cullen could barely hear, “They understand, they're angry too.”

“I'm not sure what to say.” Cullen admitted,

“Say you're sorry?” Cole suggested, “It gets harder if you wait.”

There was no arguing with that. Taking a deep breath, Cullen patted Cole on the shoulder and made his way down the stairs and into the bar.

Varric nudged Dorian, and the two of them and Bull watched him approach. Cullen reached the table without any clue about what he was going to say, the three of them sat back in silence and waited for him to speak.

Cullen shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, his hand going to the back of his neck automatically, and he cleared his throat, “About earlier...”

“That's alright -” Bull started,

Dorian elbowed Bull in the ribs non-to-gently, “No, I want to hear it,” Dorian folded his arms over his chest and waved a hand to indicate that Cullen should continue,

“I apologise.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, his moustache twitched, and he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture, “I was hoping for more grovelling, telling us you cannot continue without our presence, how you so desperately need our council, that kind of thing, but I suppose this will have to do. Drink?”

Dorian got to his feet and dragged a chair out from the table to allow Cullen to join them, then he and Varric headed to the bar.

Cullen watched them leave before sliding into the seat and turning to Bull, “That's it?” Cullen asked, surprised by how quickly they seemed to have forgiven him,

“Sure,” Bull chuckled, “You think the Boss never went off on us like that? She lost her shit pretty bad once or twice when she was worried.”

“I don't think I'm quite measuring up, I've no idea how she handled the pressure.”

“Well that's easy, she didn't.”

Cullen frowned and opened his mouth to argue, Ellana had handled the pressure of running The Inquisition perfectly fine as far as he was concerned. Before he could put his thoughts into words, a section of Ellana's folder flashed into his mind,

_The Iron Bull is smart. Like, crazily, unbelievably smart. He sees things that no one else does. You'd think that it would go without saying — the guy was a spy after all — but whatever your estimation of him is, multiply it by ten and that's probably closer to what he really is. He sees people, he knows them, he understands their motivations. Listen to him._

So, instead of arguing, Cullen asked, “How so?”

Bull smiled slightly and took a large swig of his ale before leaning forward, his large arms folded on the table, “The Qun says that everything must be for a greater good, that nothing should be about one persons desires,”

Cullen huffed a chuckle, “Then I guess I wouldn't make a very good qunari.”

“The rules would suit you, the Qun has rules for everything, but the Boss didn't run things like a qunari would. I remember this one time, we were passing near the dales, just after the peace talks at the Winter Palace, and we passed this little settlement. Both armies were fucked after the war, a lot of casualties, and neither side thought that these shitty little houses were worth killing the mess of demons that were hanging around. So, of course, the Boss charged straight at them, and we stomped them back to whatever fade-hell they'd fallen out of. The people in the houses came out to talk to us, poor bastards had been trapped inside for weeks. Piss-scared humans don't usually react well to me, I think it has something to do with the horns, so I'm hanging back. Dorian was preening, as usual, I love the guy, but holy crap he likes to preen. I think Blackwall was trying to recruit them, or give them some tips on defending themselves, I dunno. But the Boss never liked the attention. Her adoring public is behind politics on the list of shit that makes her clam up and go all awkward, but not that far behind, but she puts up with it, smiles and crap, but I can tell she's uncomfortable. So I ask her about it, about how she puts up with the pressure, you know? All these people depending on her, and she says that she didn't think about it, she couldn't. If she thought about it then she'd freeze up, and we'd never make it home, she had to make it small, make it personal. She said she didn't close that rift just because it was threatening those houses, she did it because she'd promised Cole that she'd tell him that story about the rabbit again. Another time it was because she'd found some bottle of seheron spirit she wanted to give me. Once it was because you'd kicked her ass in training, but she was sure she'd found some work around on an attack you had that kept blocking her.”

“I don't -”

“She said that you don't need to save the world, you need to save one person in it, the world just comes along for the ride.” Bull took another large swallow of ale, Dorian and Varric started to make their way back to the table with their drinks, Bull lowered his voice so only Cullen could hear him, “You want to stop The Believers, and you want it to be because they're fucking insane and they're trying to fuck up the world, and you feel like shit because mostly you just want to find the Boss?” Cullen blinked in surprise, _maybe Ellana was onto something when she said Bull could read people._ He nodded, and Bull grinned with a shrug, “As long as they get stopped it doesn't matter, you make it as personal as you need to. The Qun might think it has all the answers, but it was a Dalish elf wanting to tell a story about rabbits to a half-spirit, half-boy that saved those people.”

Cullen was still feeling quiet and thoughtful as he made his way back to his office a short while later. Dorian and Varric had both treated him as though the conversation they'd had in the War Room had never happened, but the talks he'd had with both Cole and Bull had done as much for putting things into perspective as the sleep had done. Because of this, he was almost at his office door before he realised the door was open. That snapped him right back on guard. While he rarely locked his door unless he'd closed up for the night, he never left it open; the wind in the mountains was strong enough to send any papers not nailed down into disarray. It was only ajar by a crack, but he was positive he'd closed it behind him. With one hand on the pommel of his sword, he pushed the door open and stepped into his dim office.

The culprit was still within, and while Cullen might have expected an inexperienced guard or a careless messenger, the person in his office was one of the last people he would have thought of. Before his eyes had fully adjusted to the dim light, he knew who it was by their silhouette. He'd recognise that damn silhouette anywhere.

_Of all the..._

“Hello, Hawke.”

 

 


	24. Tell me you didn't.

“Hello, Hawke.”

Hawke glanced his way and let the piece of paper she'd been reading fall from her hand to waft its way lazily back to the surface of his desk. She didn't hurriedly put it back, or look even remotely concerned that the Commander of The Inquisition had just caught her going through his paperwork. On the contrary, she cocked one hip to the side and propped her hand on top. Cullen's vision had adjusted to the dim lighting enough to allow him to see the smirk that graced her face.

She was wearing the armour of Kirkwall's champion, her twin daggers were strapped to her back and the ever-present swipe of red warpaint bisected her nose; some things never changed. Cullen could very well have stepped back into Kirkwall rather than his office. He could almost smell the docks.

Her expression hadn't changed either; she still looked at him as though he were something disgusting she'd walked into her house on the bottom of her boot. Her dark eyes narrowed, one side of her mouth turned up, twisting her smirk into a sneer. Hawke had sneered at most people in Kirkwall, none so much as the people in Kirkwall's Gallows. Her temper, sarcastic sense of humour and bad attitude — mostly directed at anyone even resembling an authority figure — were almost as legendary as her battle with the Arishok.

The thoughtful mood Cullen had been in when he'd left The Heralds Rest vanished in an instant. He was, as Varric would say, beyond not in the mood for this shit. He had no time and even less patience for Hawke's attitude right now.

The last time Kirkwall's Champion had been in Skyhold she had gone out of her way to avoid being in the same room as him — Cullen heavily suspected he had Varric to thank for that — and was certainly never alone with him. That had suited Cullen just fine. The last thing he needed was a walking talking reminder of Kirkwall, he had Varric for that.

They regarded each other in silence for a few seconds. Then Hawke glanced him up and down and let out a high-pitched whistle, “Damn, Cullen. You look like shit.”

Cullen wasn't sure if it was due to stress, exhaustion or just the sheer surprise at finding the Champion of Kirkwall skulking in his office, whatever it was, he couldn't help the bubble of laughter that somehow made it out of his chest.

Hawke watched him with a raised brow, her sneer twisted into something resembling bemused surprise, until he got the laughter out of his system. Once he'd caught his breath Cullen closed his office door and walked around to the other side of his desk while Hawke reached down to the large pack on the floor by her feet. She withdrew two bottles of ale and placed one on the desk in front of Cullen with a thunk.

Without waiting for an invitation, she picked up the stack of papers from the other chair, dropped them onto the floor, threw herself into the empty seat and propped her muddy boots up on the corner of his desk, “Crap,” she said, drawing the word out, “Must be worse than I thought if you're laughing at me.”

“It's been that sort of day,” he said with a huff, lowering himself into his chair, “Makers breath, it's been that sort of year.”

Hawke pulled the cork from her bottle of ale with her teeth and took a long swig. Cullen scrutinised the bottle she'd given him, he pulled out the cork – with his fingers, he had no desire to imitate Hawke's lack of care for her teeth – and took a sniff before glancing back up at her,

“For fuck's sake,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes that could only be described as violent, and she snatched the bottle from his hand. She took a sip before pushing it back at him, “Still so fucking paranoid. If I'd come here to poison you then I'd have bought cheap piss-water. I'm not about to ruin the only decent ale this side of the Frostbacks just to poison the likes of you.”

Cullen took a sip of the ale, surprisingly it actually wasn't bad, better than half the drinks Cabot stocked, and looked back at her over his desk. Hawke had left on good terms with The Inquisition, if not with him personally. She'd approved of Ellana's recruitment of the rebel mages, and the fact that they weren't tied to the Chantry. None of that, however, explained her sudden reappearance, and it certainly didn't even come close to explaining why she'd reappeared in his office, of all places.

Hawke returned his look, slouched low in the chair, her feet crossed at the ankle on his desk, and waited for him to talk.

He placed the bottle down and cleared his throat, “So, if you're not here to poison me, then what are you doing here?”

“I'm applying for a job as a stable-hand,” she said. The sneer pulled tighter at the corner of her mouth, a scar she'd received during the final battle in Kirkwall's Gallows ran across her chin, the sneer stretched it out, making Cullen wince, “What do you think? I'm here to help. Varric filled me in.”

“Of course he did,” Cullen sighed, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, _that damn dwarf can't just not interfere,_

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Hawke scoffed, “I wasn't aware you were in a position of being able to turn away free help when it literally knocks at your door.”

“Alright,” Cullen let go of his neck and flattened his hands on his desk. Hawke _was_ right, after all; they really weren't in a position of turning help down, no matter where it came from, “So Varric filled you in, and...”

“Are you adding selective deafness to sanctimonious in your list of admiral traits? I said I was here to help.”

“I gathered that,” Cullen said slowly, taking deep breaths through his nose. Just once he'd like to get through a conversation with Hawke that didn't result in him wanting to smash his head off the desk, “I meant what are you doing _here_? In my office?”

Hawke looked at him carefully for a long moment, the sneer dropped and she seemed to be studying him. She took another sip of her ale while her free hand tugged absently at one short lock of her black hair, “Did The Inquisitor ever tell you that I told her what you were like in Kirkwall?”

“Maker, Hawke. Please tell me you didn't,” he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, _smacking my head off the desk it is._

“Of course I did, she's a mage and you're... well, you're you,” she said, waving her hand at him, ““Mages aren't people like you and me,” you remember that? You said that to me when you still wore the Templar skirts. Damn right I told her. All I'd heard from Varric was that you'd changed, I had to give you a chance, and blah blah blah. I didn't believe a fucking word of it. So yeah, as soon as I got here I told her. Or, I tried to anyway. Do you know what she said?” Cullen shook his head, he had no idea what Ellana would have said to such a thing. He'd been honest, he'd told her about his past, how he'd seen mages during his time in Kirkwall. But hearing the events from Hawke? No, he had no idea what she'd have said, “She said she didn't give an ounce of nugs piss what you'd been like in Kirkwall, it didn't matter. What mattered was what you did now. You were here, that was the important thing. She said The Inquisition was about second chances, that not a single one of you here didn't have scars, didn't have something in your past that you were ashamed of. But that you were here, together, fighting to put the broken parts of the world, and yourselves, back together.”

By the time Hawke had finished, Cullen was gripping the bottle in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white, he had to swallow the painful lump in his throat. Ellana had told him repeatedly that she understood how he'd reacted in Kirkwall and after Kinlock Hold, but hearing Hawke — someone that disliked him to the degree she did — say it was different. For once, Hawke had the graciousness to look away, averting her eyes to the ceiling until Cullen got his emotions back under control,

“Oh,” Hawke burst out as though only just remembering, “And _then_ she said that she didn't care what back-water city I claimed to be champion of, if I spoke about you that way again then Varric would be scraping me off the walls with a toothbrush.”

Cullen huffed a surprised laugh, making Hawke grin somewhat reluctantly when she turned her eyes back to look at him,

“Yeah,” he said, “That sounds like her.”

“I believed it too. You'd think I'd be used to bad-ass elves after Fenris, but no, your crazy mage still took me by surprise. You should have heard Varric when I told him,” her voice dropped into a surprisingly good impression of the dwarf's deep rumble, “Enlea? _Our_ Enlea said that to you? And you believed her?? Andraste's tits, Hawke. Wait until you get to know her, you'll get the joke.” She took another sip of her ale, her expression falling into one that was as close to reasonable as Cullen had ever seen on the aggressive champion's face, “Bullshit aside, I owe her. At Adamant, in the Fade... things went to shit pretty bad. I didn't think I was coming back, but here I am. So I'm here to help because I owe her, but I'm here in-your-office here, because I want to see if she was right.”

Cullen blinked, it took him a few seconds for the meaning behind Hawke's words to sink in. She was giving him a chance to change her mind? It was more than he'd been expecting when he first walked in.

He climbed to his feet, then, after only a second of indecision, he extended his hand over the desk.

Hawke glanced at his empty palm for a second, before her gaze jumped up to meet his. For a moment he didn't think she'd accept his handshake, he was about to withdraw his arm when she surprised him again. She only gripped his hand for a moment, but it was a handshake nonetheless.

“Welcome to The Inquisition, Hawke.”

 

***

 

They were there. Wherever _there_ was. Ellana still hadn't given Gessius the satisfaction of her asking. The door she now faced in the wall of a Deep Road tunnel was unlike anything she'd seen. She had expected only stone to be able to survive down here, but this door was a heavy dark wood. It had been carved with an intricately designed inlay that depicted an archdemon, it's wings spread wide as though about to take flight. Smaller carvings of people were on the ground around the archdemon's feet, they seemed to be kneeling before it in worship. An enchanted shield wavered in front of the door, Gessius muttered an incantation under his breath, the shield dissolved, the door swung open, and she was faced with a spiral staircase. The steps were stone and seemed to be carved straight from the bedrock, they were slippery with moisture, and Ellana had to keep her gaze on her feet to prevent herself from falling all the way back down to the bottom. The twist in the staircase was centred around a stone column, the bend was too severe to allow her to see further up, so she had no idea how high the staircase went. The sound of marching feet and the rattle of metal armour echoed from the stone, it was deafening as it bounced around her.

There were still stairs ahead of them when a narrow passage opened up on her left. With a nudge the guard behind her prodded her off the stairs and into the passage. Doors with small barred windows lined the corridor on both sides, _perfect,_ she silently groaned to herself, _a dungeon._

It was quiet in the hallway, especially compared to the oppressive noise on the stairs, so she guessed the other cells must be empty, but the guard kept urging her forward to one of the doors in the middle of the corridor. It didn't take a genius to figure out why; the other cell doors looked old, some even appeared to be rotting on their hinges. The door the guard stopped at seemed almost new. He pulled a heavy looking ring of keys from his belt and opened the door. It opened silently, no squeak of rusty hinges, that was good. The lock was as new as the door, that was bad. There'd be no forcing it open. The door itself was wooden, at least, she thought with a shrug. Worst-case scenario she could blast the damn thing with a fireball. Not the most subtle of exits, perhaps, but certainly effective.

The guard stood back to let her enter, and she stepped inside. The walls were rough stone and there were no windows, so she guessed they were probably still underground. Though the air was cool, it was also dry, so hopefully they weren't too far below the surface and there was also the small barred window in the door. All in all, Ellana was relieved, it could have been a lot worse. With a few hours, a day at most, to recharge her mana she could make this work.

“Not up to your usual standards, I'm sure.” Magister Gessius said as he entered the cell behind her,

“On the contrary, this is one of the homelier dungeons I've been in, I like what you've done with the place,” she quipped back. She was getting tired of the facade now, it would be a pleasure to wipe that damn smile off his face. Just a few hours, that was all she needed, just a few hours, and she'd be ready to get out of here. Or, if it came to it, die in the attempt. Either way, they were not getting the anchor. She forced her face to remain impassive, hating him with her eyes while trying to look as though she didn't have a care in the world.

“I'm glad you approve,” he took a few steps toward the door before turning back, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

Gessius clicked his fingers, and she heard movement outside her cell. A few seconds later and a Red Templar was blocking the doorway. Red mist seeped from the hulking mess that had once been a man, it snaked across the floor and swirled into the room. For a moment Ellana forgot herself, she forgot the facade she was meant to be keeping in place, forgot about her Inquisitor mask, and she recoiled. Stumbling over her feet she took a few hurried steps backwards.

Gessius smiled at her from under his hood and Ellana felt the mana she'd built back up during their walk through the Deep Roads drain back out of her. The Red Templar was suppressing her magic, she could feel her energy running out of her in waves, leaving her knees weak.

“Have a good night, Inquisitor,” Gessius said, before turning on his heel, pulling the door to her cell closed behind him as he left. Ellana waited until she heard the key turn in the lock and footsteps start to retreat down the hall before hurrying to the window, praying like hell that the Templar had left with the magister.

He hadn't.

Through the bars she could make out a guard on one side of the door, and the Red Templar on the other. She couldn't even burn the rope that still held her wrists, let alone bring down the damned door.

_Blast it! Blast and damnation and curses and — and — oh, fuck._

She let her forehead rest against the hard wood.

_Fenedhis, I am really in trouble._

 


	25. Let's see how far we get.

A Red Templar was kept on constant vigil outside Ellana's cell. She had grown accustomed to the drain on her mana; it was unpleasant, more so at first. It had left her feeling weak, her knees shaking underneath her, but over the course of the time she'd spent in her cell she had become used to it. Staying positive had been a whole lot harder. Cold, dark and hunger were not, by general consensus, great for morale.

With nothing to sit on but the dusty floor and the rough stone walls to her back, it hadn't taken long for the cold to penetrate her leathers. Ellana was normally quite comfortable in cold environments, but that was natural cold; being outside in the frost and snow. Certainly not the damp, stale cold of her cell. This cold seemed to bypass her clothes entirely, it sank into her bones, making them ache. With no natural light it was impossible to even guess how much time had passed since Gessius had left her here. It could have been an hour, several hours, a day, an eternity. There was no way to know.

And the dripping — _Gods, the dripping —_ was driving her insane. Somewhere not too far away, she could hear something dripping. Whenever she tried to lose her situation in a daydream, or plan some method of escape, that dripping would bring her right back, it was maddening. There was some satisfaction to be had in the idea that it was probably annoying her guards as much as it was her, but at least they were rotated and got a few hours of peace from the infernal drip drip drip.

There was, however, one great big silver lining; the Red Templar's mana drain was substantially less debilitating than The Believers thought. Mages fought at range, by keeping their foes at a distance. Mages were, traditionally, controllers of a battlefield, they didn't normally enter the fray physically themselves. Ellana was somewhat of an exception, Cullen had made sure of it. If she had to fight without her magic then she could. Since almost day one of The Inquisition, Cullen had trained her to fight without relying on her magic. On a good day she could give him a run for his coppers. These guys were good, but they weren't him. Not even close.

Watching The Believers fight the darkspawn as they'd travelled the Deep Roads had been good for something, at least. She'd managed to glean a sense of their fighting style. The majority of the heavy warriors fought with brute strength, no finesse or style. They relied on the power they could put behind their blows, but all that power was wasted if they couldn't hit their target. She might have been more concerned if the warrior she'd dubbed her weak-link had been one of the nimble rogues, but a sluggish heavy-footed warrior that relied on brute strength, in his heavy armour with a giant two-handed greatsword? That was someone she could outmanoeuvre. He'd show up here eventually, she was sure of it. Without her magic he had no reason not to enter her cell, he'd think her harmless, he'd be cocky, he'd be angry, and he'd have a key. He'd show himself, and she'd show him just how helpless she was. All she needed was one shot, all she'd probably get was one shot, so she needed to make it count. The sooner the better, Ellana had had more than enough of The Believers hospitality.

It seemed the warrior had as little patience as she did, they'd only rotated her guards a handful of times when she heard an exchange of words outside her cell,

“I'm here to relieve you,” he said. Ellana's head snapped up from where it had been drooping onto her chest, despite the dripping she'd been very close to falling asleep propped up against the wall. She hadn't heard a voice since Gessius had left, every other rotation had happened in silence, with barely more than an exchange of nods. It could only be him, the weak-link. Her heart immediately started to pound harder in her chest,

“I'm not due a shift change for another three hours,” the other guard argued. Ellana rolled her eyes, _come on, you're being given a few hours off, why are you arguing? Just go!_ She silently begged,

“They changed the rotation,”

“Nobody told me about this.”

“Take it up with the man in charge, I'm just following orders.”

A few more minutes of muttered conversation followed, where Ellana sat completely still and listening carefully to every word, until her weak-link warrior convinced the other guard to leave. Heavy footsteps and the rattle of armour made their way down the corridor and out of earshot,

“Ugh, finally.” Ellana muttered aloud to herself.

She took a moment to close her eyes and steel her nerves. Her hands were still tied in front of her, the few feet of slack rope puddled in her lap, so she wiped her suddenly damp palms on her leathers as best she could and took a few deep breaths. The coin Cullen had given her still hung from its silver chain around her neck, she pulled it from the front of her tunic and closed her fist tightly around it,

 _Ignore the sword, watch the shoulders and hips._ The instructions Cullen had first given her all those months ago rang in her mind. He'd knocked her from one side of the training ring to the other without so much as breaking a sweat in those first few months in Haven as the snow fell and the others watched from the sidelines.

_Armour is heavy, and it's strong, you need to be fast, outmanoeuvre them._

Her eyes popped open at the sound of the keys in the lock. She pressed the coin to her lips and tucked it back inside her clothes.

_Come on love, you can do this._

_Alright, vhenan. I guess we're about to find out just how good of a job you actually did._

Ellana scrambled to her feet just as the door of her cell swung open, the slack of the rope swung with the sudden motion, smacking her in the knees. The warrior was as she remembered him; weighed down by heavy armour, with a huge greatsword strapped to his back. He paused in the open doorway, regarding her silently for a few seconds before stepping inside. The door closed heavily behind him, but he didn't bother to lock it. Ellana felt a small stab of satisfaction; she'd been right, without her magic they thought her defenceless, he'd never have left the door unlocked if he thought otherwise.

His gaze didn't shift from her for a second as he pulled off his armoured gloves and helm and tossed them to the ground. The removal of his helmet revealed a shock of dark brown hair, a long flat nose and a face that was heavily pot-marked and scarred. Dark thick eyebrows were set low over a pair of startlingly pretty green eyes. He swung the large ring of keys around one thick finger before dropping them down next to his belongings.

“It was my brother,” he said, his accent was Ferelden and his voice wasn't very deep for a man of his size, it surprised her, but she schooled her features into their neutral mask,

“Sorry? Your brother what?” she asked, feigning ignorance. She kept her back firmly pressed against the wall as he advanced toward her,

“It was my brother that you killed in South Reach,” he growled, his teeth already bared in anger. Ellana swallowed; it wasn't going to be difficult to goad him into a physical confrontation, what _would_ be difficult was ensuring that she won. He looked a lot larger this close; easily six feet with broad shoulders.

She refused to let her fear show on her face, butterflies fluttered against her ribcage as she shrugged, “Then maybe, and this is just an idea, just throwing it out there, but _maybe_ he shouldn't have been in South Reach threatening innocent people.”

The weak-link warrior crossed the room in just a couple of large strides, in less than a second he had his forearm across her throat and was pushing her into the wall. Sharp stone cut roughly into the back of Ellana's shoulders, she suppressed the yelp of surprise and pain that jumped into her throat.

Red rose in the warrior's cheeks, she could see small red veins running like spiderwebs under his pot-marked skin, “Fucking knife-eared bitch! I've put up with your endless talk for days, don't you ever shut the fuck up?” he spat at her, his breath sickening sour and hot on her face,

“Ha, not really, now that you mention it,” she somehow managed a laugh, despite the fact that her heart was racing so hard in her chest that she could feel it throbbing in her fingertips, “Being around crazy idiots trying to destroy the world brings out the chatterer in me.”

He dropped his arm from her throat and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her forward before slamming her back into the wall with enough force that her head bounced from the stone, “ _I'm_ not the one in a dungeon! You've lost, rabbit,” his large, rubbery lips pulled back over blackened teeth, “Learn when to shut your fucking mouth!”

Ellana's palms were damp again, she doubled down, pushing the nerves to the back of her mind. He was so furious, it wouldn't take much more, almost there, she just had to keep talking, “Your boss won't be happy if you kill me.”

He looked down at her anchor, his lip twisted in disgust, “He only wants what's on your hand, a few bruises, maybe some teeth, one of your eyes...” his gaze wandered across her face as though he were already picturing her injuries, he paused on her ear, “Maybe I'll take one of your ears, little rabbit. Won't make a difference to him.”

“Huh,” Ellana shrugged, “Good to know, very reassuring.”

His face turned even redder, his eyes screwed up and spit flew from his lips to land on her face as he bellowed, “I said shut the fuck up!”

He drove one of his huge fists into her stomach, doubling her over as the air was driven from her lungs. She hadn't caught her breath before the warrior slammed his other fist into her cheek. She hit the ground hard, stars burst behind her eyelids.

_Fenedhis! Alright, he hits harder than I thought he would,_

_No matter how well armoured they are, there are always weak spots, places you can exploit; eyes, nose, throat, jaw._ Cullen continued to lecture in her head, _Your opponent is almost always going to be bigger and stronger than you are, you need to fight smart. Let them fight with their bodies, you fight with your head. They're stronger, you're smarter. Use it._

Trying to look as though she was merely pushing herself to her feet, Ellana grabbed a handful of the dust and grit that covered the floor of her cell. The warrior hauled her to her feet. With a snarl he fisted both hands onto the front of her leathers, lifting her from the ground as he slammed her back into the wall. One large hand left her leathers, he balled it into a fist and he drew it back over his shoulder to hit her again.

Ellana held her free hand up to stop him, “Wait, no. Please don't hit me. Please, I -” she stuttered, barely letting her voice rise above a whimper, she turned her head to one side to cough, “Don't please. I'll do what you want, but I need to tell you -” she croaked, letting her very real fear make her voice shake as she watched him closely through half-closed eyes. He gripped her leathers in both hands again and brought his face closer to hers to hear her, the moment he did she opened her clenched fist and blew the dust and grit directly into his eyes.

He hissed through his teeth as he reeled back away from her, his grip started to slacken on the front of her leathers. Before he could let go, Ellana locked her arms around his, bent her knees and braced her feet against the wall. With a scream she pushed with her legs and launched herself at him as hard as she could, and brought her forehead down onto his nose. She felt the soft cartilage crunch. Pain shattered her skull and lanced down her neck as his long flat nose exploded, covering both their faces in a shower of scalding, sticky blood. The warrior roared in pain, and Ellana released the lock she had on his arms, dropping back to her feet. She braced one hand on the wall as the world wavered in front of her eyes, her legs felt wobbly underneath her. She rolled her neck and shook the dizziness away,

 _Never stop moving,_ Cullen barked in her head, _You stop, you die. Move!_

“Shit, Bull makes that look so easy.”

She squinted up through her piercing headache, rubbing blood from her eyes with shaking fingers. The warrior was still on his feet but he was staggering. Blinded by dust and blood, clutching his ruined nose with one hand while he groped wildly for her with the other. Ellana ducked under his arm and grabbed his unprotected hand, taking two fingers in each of her fists she pulled them in opposite directions as hard as she could. A sickening crack echoed from the walls, bile rose in her throat at the sound making her gag as the warrior shrieked, sounding almost inhuman. He bent at the waist, cradling his injured hand to his chest. As soon as he dropped his head low enough, Ellana drove her elbow into his jaw. The warrior fell face first onto the floor of her cell and didn't move.

Ellana propped her elbows on her knees and took several large, whooping breaths. Black spots danced in her vision, and her stomach was trying valiantly to rid itself of what wasn't there, The Believers hadn't given her anything to eat, something that she was suddenly very grateful for.

_Don't stop now, keep going! That Templar isn't going to wait out there forever!_

_I can't fight if I can't breathe, Cullen._

_You can't fight if you're dead, either._

“Alright, that's actually a good point,” she muttered aloud.

She straightened, the world span around her, she closed her eyes until the sensation passed then quickly checked herself for injuries. The warrior had knocked the wind out of her, but luckily hadn't damaged any of her ribs. He'd also reopened the wound on her cheek that she'd sustained in South Reach — _that damn cut is going to leave one heck of a scar after all this_ — but she wasn't losing too much blood, at least not yet. Lastly, her head still rang from where she'd headbutted him, but she was fairly sure she didn't have a concussion. It could certainly have been a lot worse.

The next thing she had to do was to rid herself of the rope that still hung from her wrists. The weak-link's sword was still strapped to his back. She eyed him warily; he wasn't moving, but little clouds of dust lifted from the floor whenever he breathed, so she hadn't killed him. Carefully she nudged his leg with her foot, the leg was like dead weight, and he still didn't move. Angling herself to stay as far away from his hands as she could, Ellana held her breath as she slipped the slack of the rope under the blade and pulled. The warrior had taken good care of his weapon; it cut through the rope like butter. She was tempted to take the sword with her, but it was longer than she was, it would only weigh her down. A dagger glittered at his hip, she took that instead. She cut the excess rope that dangled from her wrists before scooping up the keys and pushing them deep into her pocket.

“Alright,” she whispered to herself, “So far so good. Just the Templar to go.”

It was a wonder the Templar hadn't come to investigate already, it made sense that the warrior had told him to ignore sounds of shouting or cries of pain, but the sudden quiet must be making him suspicious by now. On silent feet she approached the door and lifted up onto her toes to peer through the small barred window. The Red Templar hadn't budged. He was exactly where he'd been the last time she'd checked; just to the left of the door. Ellana smiled to herself, this was almost too perfect. Palming the dagger, she placed both hands on the door and pushed with all her weight behind it. The door flew open with a crash, pinning the Templar between the hard wood and the wall. Before he could push back, Ellana flicked the dagger up and pushed it through the small window and straight into the Templar's eye. He immediately slumped to the ground, death throes making his legs twitch and his heel tap a rhythm on the floor. As soon as he fell, Ellana felt her mana slowly start to return,

“Oh, thank the Gods,” she muttered, wiggling her fingers experimentally and watching the small branches of lightning jump and arc between her fingers. Her magic would have to be used sparingly, but it was better than nothing. She was also going to need a better weapon, preferably before The Believers noticed that their pet Inquisitor had escaped, she'd trade just about everything she owned for her staff. Unfortunately, she couldn't rely solely on conveniently placed doors,

“Which means I can't leave you lying here,” she said to the dead Templar. Being very careful not to touch any of the crystallised red lyrium protruding from his skin, she grabbed him by the cloak and dragged him into her recently vacated cell. After dumping him unceremoniously next to the unconscious warrior, she retrieved her stolen dagger, stepped back out into the hall, closing and locking the door behind her.

_So, now what?_

_They say the journey of a lifetime starts with a single step._

_Alright, vhenan, let's see how far we get._

 


	26. All downhill from here.

Ellana hurried down the hallway on light feet, heading back toward the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. The hall passed in a blur. The smell of old wood and stale air filled her nose, but she barely paid attention to her surroundings as she rushed forward. One hand was jammed into her pocket, clamped tightly around the ring of keys to stop them jingling, the dagger was grasped tightly in the other. There was a moment of hesitation when she reached the stone staircase and glanced down into the depths below. As much as she didn't want to fight every member of The Believers alone, she fancied her chances against the darkspawn even less. Turning away from the darkness, she started her cautious climb upward.

The silence was oppressive as she started the sharp climb up the stairs. Walls of quiet pressed in on her, it was a far cry from the first time she'd been on this spiral staircase with the heavy ring of armour echoing around her. Given the choice, she'd have taken the noise. Now the silence seemed to be almost begging her to make some mistake, to be her usual clumsy self, to break the silence somehow and bring The Believers down upon her. With a pang of loss for a simpler time, she remembered the groans that always sounded from her clan's hunters when she was chosen to accompany them into the forest. That wasn't going to happen today. She bit her lip and concentrated.

The first two hallways that opened up on her left were identical to the one she'd been housed in, except that these corridors were pitch black, the wall sconces dark. Ellana didn't bother to explore those hallways, she stayed on the stairs, grateful that even though she'd been in a cell, at least it hadn't been a dark cell.

The further she climbed the more she started to get suspicious. She was starting to breathe heavily from the ascent, and yet she hadn't seen a single member of The Believers. She wasn't about to complain, but surely she should have encountered some sort of resistance by now? There had been so many of them in the Deep Roads that she could barely keep them all in sight, but now? Now she didn't see any of them. Not a single person had stood in her way so far, where were they? It couldn't be this easy. _Nothing_ was ever this easy. Nerves started to roll in her stomach as her mind screamed at her that this was a trap. There could be no other explanation for the absence of any kind of resistance. Somehow they'd known she'd escaped, they were lurking in the shadows just ahead, she knew it. Yet when she reached the shadow it was empty, as was the shadow after that.

Picking up the pace until she was almost jogging up the stairs, she gave up on the idea of exploring the other corridors, she passed them with barely a glance. Her goal was the top of the stairs, and by the Gods, she was going to reach it.

The spiral staircase seemed to go on forever, like a dream it stretched out to an impossible length. When she finally reached the summit and onto yet another abandoned hallway her thighs were aching, she leant forward with her hands braced on her knees to take a few deep breaths. The hallway she was in now had no doors, barred or otherwise, but she barely noticed a thing beyond the ladder at the other end of the hall in front of her. Within moments her hands were on the first iron rung. Amber flakes of dust rubbed off to dust her fingers, but it was solid and secure under her hands. She hastily stuffed the dagger into her belt and glanced up. The ladder ended in a wooden trapdoor, set high in the ceiling over her head. Elation started to take over from the tension at finding her prison empty; that trapdoor could only lead to the surface. Gripping the ladder hard, she started to climb.

The climb seemed to get easier with every step, her confidence grew as the trapdoor grew larger in her vision, and she felt a smile start to pull at her mouth. She was almost flying up the rungs by the time she reached it and pushed it open. There was a roughly cut hole behind it, being careful not to let the wooden trapdoor bang closed, she clambered through the hole and glanced around. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest as she sucked in a breath, halting the curse that tried to escape her throat.

 _This_ was how she'd managed to get from her cell to the exit of The Believers base without seeing a single person beyond her guards. From the elevated dais she was standing on, she could see rows of tents stretched out across the floor of the huge great hall she now found herself in. She could hear the sound of dozens of different voices snoring. The room was very dimly lit, clearly she'd attempted her escape at night, during the day all of these sleeping people would be in one of the many rooms beneath her feet. No torches or fires burned, yet the great hall seemed to be shrouded in an odd red light. Puzzled, Ellana pulled her gaze from the rows of tents to roam the outer edges of the room, and she saw the first flash of a red crystal.

“Oh, Gods,” she murmured, her voice cracked on the words. Giant spires of red lyrium had burst through the floors to tower high over her head. Like the fingers of someone buried alive and trying to claw their way to daylight, they reached toward the high vaulted ceiling. Ellana swallowed hard, she felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of her neck and into her collar. She knew where she was. Finally, she knew, “It's -”

A loud snort from a nearby tent made her jump, her heart leapt in her chest then raced hard against her ribs. She stood poised on the balls of her feet, ready to flee she waited, giving it until the count of five before allowing herself to breathe again.

 _There's no point standing here and thinking about it. You know where you are, and you know that Cullen will never think to look for you here._ A tickle in her throat begged her to cough, to give herself away, she swallowed past it and tried to shift the nerves that had suddenly turned her legs weak, _No one is coming for you, Ellana. If you don't get out now, then you're never getting out. You need to move._

She stepped as carefully as she could as she made her way down the few stone steps and onto the floor. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, bringing away the taste of salt, her fingers tapped out an agitated rhythm against her thigh. Looking out across the sea of tents and sleeping enemies was almost enough to make her lose her nerve. If she put one foot wrong, stepped in the wrong place, brushed against something, knocked something over... _Creators._ She could barely walk past her own coffee table without sending something tumbling to the carpet.

Hardly daring to breathe, she took the first step between a pair of tents. Her foot only a whisker above the ground as she moved. She slid her other foot along the floor until it met its partner.

_Breathe, Ellana. One step down._

_Oh, yeah,_ she said sarcastically to herself, _it's all downhill from here._

Nervous giggles tried to bubble up in her chest, she pinched herself hard on the inside of her arm to force them back down.

She turned to the side to slip between the tents, loud snores came from whoever was inside, sleeping mere inches from where she passed. She held her breath as she gingerly sidled by. The breath was shaky when she released it, her lips pulled tight in a grimace, her tongue between her teeth.

The tents seemed to stretch on for an eternity, a never-ending field of them. Her pulse thundered in her ears, sounding so loud to her that it was a miracle The Believers couldn't hear it. She forced herself to take another step. If she stopped still for too long then she might never move again.

She kept herself focused on the huge arch at the back of the hall. That was her exit. Her way out. The way home. One more step, and another, one more. Keep going. Keep moving. One more tent was behind her, onto the next. Don't look back, don't look back. If she saw she was closer to the start than the finish then she may very well freeze up.

Another step. Another tent. Keep going. Don't look back.

Her palms were slick, her restless hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. The knowledge that this was her only chance at escape made her chest constrict, her breath started to come in pants. If she was discovered now, then she'd never get out of that cell again. She tried to calm her breathing, in through the nose, out through shaking lips.

Breathe, step. Breathe, step. Brea -

Ellana clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her gasp. The small tinkle of metal on the stone floor sounded unbearably loud. Twisting at an awkward angle, she could see it. A spoon. She'd stepped on a damn spoon. The handle hovered off the ground, the bowl and tip vanished under her boot. If she lifted her heel, then it would clatter to the floor.

Slowly she released the breath she was holding through her nose. Arms held out for balance, she bent her knees and carefully squatted down to retrieve it. With shaking fingers she removed the offending implement from under her heel and rose back to her full height, the spoon held aloft like a trophy. Instead of putting the spoon back on the ground where it might make more noise, she slipped it into her pocket and kept moving.

She took tiny steps, sliding her feet along the stone whenever possible. Everything was going well, she was breathing, stepping and decidedly not looking back, until she came to a cooking station between two tents. A heavy looking cooking pot was hanging over an old burned-out fire. It didn't look as though it had been used in a very long time. The iron rod that held the pot was degraded and rusting. It appeared to be barely sustaining the weight. Ellana looked at the cooking station through narrow eyes, it hung precariously as though it were waiting for the perfect opportunity to clatter to the ground at a time that would cause the most trouble. That opportunity was now.

The slightest knock, the smallest of brushes, that was all it would take.

She moved as close to the cooking station as she could without touching it, then reached down and grabbed the hem of her long leather coat, lifting it until it was at chest height. Taking a large step, her knee comically high until it almost touched her collar, she hefted her first leg over the cooking station. Poised with one leg on either side, she wobbled, her balance thrown off by her too-wide stance. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, waiting for the crash of the iron pot on the stone. For a few seconds Ellana was incapable of movement, but when the crash never sounded, she opened one eye and glanced down, the pot was still on its degraded rod. Moving now took almost as much courage as fighting Corypheus, but she shifted her weight, leaning right over as far as she could before swinging her second leg over. She didn't dare breathe again until she had a few feet between herself and the cooking station, only then did she release the death-grip she had on the hem of her coat. Exhaling slowly through her mouth, Ellana had to fight the sudden head-rush that made her dizzy, she took a few more deep breaths until the dizziness passed before moving on.

Her steps became more nimble as she started to pick up the pace, gaining more confidence as she slipped past the tents on her toes. The sleeping Believers only a finger width from her boots, and she'd be long gone before they woke up. Excitement began to bubble in her stomach, the giddy thrill of adrenalin heating her blood. Once she was out of here she could lose them in the woods and get a message to Skyhold. She was Dalish, she was _made_ to hide from humans in the woods. Just a few more steps, just a few more. She started to feel stronger, more capable, she felt like she could almost do cartwheels through the campsite and still get away with it — she wouldn't, of course, but she could if she wanted to. She was getting out, she was going home, and The Believers didn't even know. She'd beaten them.

Ellana turned to the side, sucking in her stomach to squeeze through a particularly tight gap, her gaze already on her feet and looking for the next obstruction, but there was nothing to see but an empty stone floor. Her chin jerked up to look ahead, there was nothing before her except for the arched doorway only a few feet away. She was past them, the sea of tents was behind her!

She'd done it! She was out, on her way home, she -

Somewhere over her shoulder Ellana heard a door open and close. Whirling around she saw him. A rogue dressed in light leather armour entered the hall from a side-room. Time stood still while she and the rogue looked at each other.

He recovered first,

“Hey!” he shouted. It was all he had time to shout, Ellana's hand stretched out, ice flew from her fingers and a moment later the rogue was frozen to the spot.

But it was too late, the damage had been done.

Before she could react and run, tents were being opened, bedrolls were thrown back as the dozens of Believers awoke.

She tried anyway, but before she'd taken two steps, a hand shot out of a tent and caught her ankle, sending her sprawling to the hard flags. The dagger was still secure in her belt, she snatched it up and slashed hard at the groping fingers. The hand vanished with a scream of pain, the tip of one finger dropped to the floor, rolling under the sole of her boot as she propelled herself forward on strong legs. Her arms pin-wheeled as she pushed herself back to her feet, but before she'd reached her full height rough hands grabbed her from behind, lifting her from her feet. Ellana's head snapped back and into the face of whoever had grabbed her, she felt something crunch against the back of her skull and the hands vanished. Her relief was short-lived; the hands were almost instantly replaced by others, far more than she could slash at with her dagger, they gripped her arms, legs, around her torso, one gripped her throat as she was yanked back off her feet to the elated cheers of The Believers, and they hauled her back toward the centre of the hall.

She was spun and jostled, passed from person to person. But Ellana tried her best to keep her head, to keep her balance. The second there was a pause in movement, she threw the dagger at a nearby Believer, the small blade flew true to in-bed itself into a mages unprotected chest. As the mage fell, she saw the staff he had in one hand clatter to the ground, and her heart leapt in her chest. That was the only mage she'd seen since escaping her cell, she needed to get her hands on that staff. Her hands — now empty of weapons — flashed, lightning danced in her palms and arched from her to leap from enemy to enemy until finally, the hands released her, and she dropped to her feet.

Several Believers had been caught in her lightning storm, though only one or two had fallen to the floor, the others would shake off the effects soon enough, and The Believers that had been further away were now storming through the campsite towards them with cries of outrage, they'd be upon her any second. There was no time to think, or plan a strategy, all she had left was her wits and instinct.

She sprinted at the fallen mage, sliding to her knees to scoop up the dropped staff, and only just in time, in the space of less than three beats of Ellana's hammering heart, she raised the staff to block a blade that was heading straight for her chest. The staff was heavy, dense and clearly not as well-maintained as her own, but when she swung it around herself to collide with The Believer's head, she was grateful to have it. It connected with the warrior's temple with a sicking crack that echoed from the stone walls, the warrior was dead before she hit the ground.

Ellana didn't see where the warrior had fallen; brandishing the staff in one hand and screaming incoherently, she launched fire-mines into the path of the approaching Believers, some were too close to avoid the traps, one instantly turned to ash.

The smell of mana filled her nose, the world came into sharp focus, her muscles bunched as adrenalin fuelled her every move. She turned to the next person that stood between her and her escape.

She blocked the dual daggers of the rogue, on swift well-practised steps she turned on the balls of her feet, and drew her spirit blade up the dagger wielder's back, the heady, cloying smell of blood joined the mana in her nose.

Tents around her were crushed underfoot as more and more of them streamed toward her, she swung the staff in a wide arc, slashing the heavy bladed end against limbs, chests and stomachs. A warrior caught the handle of the staff at the end of its arc in one of his large hands. Ellana had learned her lesson of trying to overpower someone so much stronger than herself; Cullen had taught her well. She let go of the staff, her hand going instead to the warrior's belt and the weapon strapped there. She gripped his sword and withdrew it in one long, sharp, upward swing, dragging the blade up the warrior's stomach, dousing herself in hot blood, and the warrior fell at her feet. Panting hard she took a few steps backwards, until she felt a solid stone pillar at her back. She swung the sword as hard as she could, The Believers surrounding her leapt back out of the way. Her harsh breath blew loose strands of silver hair around her face as she snarled at them, daring them to come closer.

A firewall sprang from her left hand to protect her side, but as she turned to the right to force her way back toward the doors, she felt a thud in her shoulder, and the sword dropped from her fingertips. She glanced down and saw an arrow protruding from just beneath her collarbone on her right side. The sight of the arrow brought the pain. Fire erupted from her shoulder to race across her chest. Her right arm hung useless at her side, an ice-spell from her left arm removed the archer from the fight, but now one-handed and unarmed, she couldn't stop the swarm of Believers from grabbing at her.

Rough hands forced her arms over her head, she could feel lightning leaping from her fingers until her hands were forced into fists, her lightning pushed harshly into her own palms. Half a dozen of them pressed tightly against her, the smell of their bodies and the heat of so many people made her head swim. A large man, his ruined mess of a nose was bleeding profusely, blood poured down his face and into his beard, it could only be the Believer that had grabbed her at the beginning, the nose she'd crushed with the back of her skull. He smiled at her sickly, then gripped the arrow still sticking out of her chest in his fist and pushed it upward. Agony burst from her chest, flying through her back and down to her stomach. Ellana screamed in pain, the man's smile only widened as he pushed the arrow harder, she tried to kick at him, to push him off her, but one of the others gripped her by the hips, forcing her back against the pillar.

There was a flash of steel and Ellana's heart seemed to stop in her chest as a blade was pressed to her throat, forcing her to lift up on her toes. The blade followed her, it pressed against the delicate flesh of her throat, she resisted the urge to swallow as she felt a bead of blood trail down her neck and into the collar of her coat,

“Enough!” a voice boomed across the hall and the blade withdrew. Ellana dropped back onto her heels, a hand flying to her throat as she coughed and choked on her deep breaths.

Magister Gessius approached them slowly from the still open trap door. His cloak flicked dramatically around his legs, a pair of Red Templars flanked him, a row of mages followed in his wake. The Believers backed off, their heads bowed respectfully, but Gessius didn't acknowledge them. He didn't take his gaze from Ellana for a moment, but he didn't speak until he was standing directly over her. She was still bent at the waist, her palm tight against her throat.

He gripped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. She met his cold, flat eyes without flinching, her Inquisitor mask cast aside as she glared at him. Blood, both her own and that of her enemies, was splattered on her face, wild silver curls had fallen from her neat braid to brush against her cheeks,

“Nice to meet you at last, Inquisitor. I was wondering when I was going to see the real you,” he released her chin to turn in a slow circle and take in the destruction around her, the destroyed camp and the bodies that littered the floor, “I hate to admit it, but I must say, I'm rather impressed.”

Waves of pain radiated from the arrow wound in her chest, but she stood as straight as she was able, her eyes narrowed and her face contorted in pain and anger as she looked up at him, “Fuck you.”

Gessius' lips twitched, “Such wit, I'm wounded, really.”

“Tell your men to back off, coward, face me one on one and I'll show you a wound.”

“Hmm,” the magister chuckled, “Indulge me, where does a mage learn to fight like — ah,” he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, “The soldier you saved in South Reach?”

Ellana's legs were feeling wobbly underneath her, she shuffled back until the stone pillar was once again at her back, and she forced her spine straight despite the pain, “You're going to regret letting me do that, Manny,”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” her head rolled on her neck, and she let it drop back to rest against the pillar as she smiled tiredly, “You let me save the man that's going to kill you. Big mistake.”

“Indeed?” Gessius chuckled again and closed the small gap between them until he loomed over her and leant down to speak softly, “Well if this soldier of yours shows his face here, then we'll see who kills whom.”

Ellana leant back and spat a mouthful of blood and spit straight into his arrogant, smiling face. Before she could even attempt to block, the back of Gessius' hand hit her around the face with enough force to make her ears ring. She bit back the cry of pain, the heavy ring he wore split the skin next to her eye, and she felt the warm trickle of blood run down her cheek.

Flicking her hair out of her face with a toss of her head, she forced herself to smile, “Did I just elicit an emotional response?” Anger contorted his features, he glared at her with pure hatred. Then, just as fast as it arrived, it vanished, his face smoothing back out into that constant state of light amusement. Ellana felt goosebumps race up and down her arms, she couldn't repress the shiver that shook her spine, “You really are completely insane, aren't you?”

Gessius turned from her without a response and nodded to the Red Templars behind him, “Bring The Inquisitor to my study, I believe we're going to put our plans into motion sooner than I had anticipated.”

 


	27. Get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING**
> 
> So, you may have noticed that I have removed the "torture" tag from this fic. It turns out that I don't quite have the stomach for it that I thought, so the scene is less graphic and considerably shorter than I expected when I started to write this story. I'm leaving this warning instead; the end of this chapter contains a scene that some might find disturbing. There is, what I would consider to be, non-graphic physical torment where out Inquisitor is suffering physically at the hands of her captors. If you would like to skip it, then drop out at the chapter break. I promise you won't miss anything vital to the plot. If you feel that I should put the torture tag back, then please feel free to leave a comment to let me know.
> 
> Happy reading!

There simply were not enough hours in the day. Cullen could barely keep up, if he hurried any more than he'd meet himself coming back, as his mother was fond of saying. He didn't dare slow down, didn't dare rest, in case of what it might mean if he did. If he wasn't watching, and they missed some small piece of information? If some vital clue was overlooked, then it could mean the difference between finding her alive, finding her dead or, worse, not finding her at all. It was probably for the best; he had to keep busy, had to keep his mind occupied. Being alone with his thoughts was not conducive to keeping a clear head. Clear heads were what won battles, and Cullen was determined that this battle wasn't over yet.

He shook the rain from his fur mantel as he made his sodden entrance to Skyhold's Great Hall, he kicked drops of water from his boots and pushed the heavy double doors closed behind him against the large gust of wind that was determined to get inside. He was on his way to the War Room to have his scheduled meeting with Leliana and Josephine; their daily exchange of information. Or, more accurately, their daily lament over the lack of information.

No doubt there would be other things that required his attention, Cullen groaned inwardly at the prospect. The Inquisition didn't run itself, and though the others did their best to only bring the most vital subjects to his attention, it was still vexing to have to discuss repairs on their keeps or reparations to some lord or other when The Believers were still out there. He'd recently grown a much better understanding of Ellana's irritation at some of the minor war table discussions during their mission to stop Corypheus — though she had done a much better job of hiding her feelings than Cullen had managed thus far.

Varric, Dorian and Sera were waiting for him at Varric's table by the fire. Sera must have also made the wet trip across the courtyard only recently, Dorian was hanging a threadbare cloak of hers on a chair before the flames and Cullen could barely see her face, as obscured as it was by the towel she was running over her short blonde hair. All three of them had sent him reports on their findings, or lack thereof, but Cullen hadn't found the time to read them yet. He waved the three of them over, hoping for a quick verbal summary before he arrived at the War Room.

“One at a time, please,” Cullen said, trying to ignore the voices of the nobles as he skirted around the men and women dressed in silks and the never-ending parade of dresses. If it was raining in Skyhold then the nobles were served a choice of hot cocoa or warm mead. The combination of scents was sickly sweet. It wasn't helping his brewing headache, which he was also trying to ignore. He wasn't sure which was worse; the headache or the nobles, but the nobles definitely won on the more annoying of the two,

“Sod all,” Sera started, her usual display of tact was enough to make Cullen huff something close to a chuckle, “The Jenny's don't know nuffin.”

“Succinct as always, Sera.” Cullen nodded, “Varric?”

“My contact in the Legion says they haven't seen any strangers in the Deep Roads, and they've asked me not to pester them again. Getting messages past the darkspawn isn't easy, apparently. Not that it'll stop me, I'll keep on it.”

“You do that. Dorian?”

“Nothing about Ell from Tevinter,” Dorian said, he looked almost as tired as Cullen did, his usual vibrant skin was pale, but his mouth twisted into something close to his usual smile as he swiped a thumb across his moustache, “But interesting twist; one or two of the more vocal Venatori supporters weren't at the last meeting of the magisters. That being said, Ell did have a few supporters of her own, they approved of a mage holding a position of power in the south. So much so, that they were willing to overlook the fact that she's elven. They were even gaining traction with the other magisters, so it's possible the Venatori supporters are merely hiding from them.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him, “ _Overlook_ the fact that she's elven?”

“Hey!” Dorian said, holding his hands up in surrender, “Their words, not mine. I can go back to Minrathus if you like? See how it is for myself?”

Dorian hadn't returned to Minrathus since joining The Inquisition, and Cullen was well aware of how little he wanted to return to his old home. The fact that he would make the offer so easily in order to help find Ellana meant a lot to Cullen, though he was also aware of how little it would probably help. The offer was still appreciated.

He gave Dorian's shoulder a quick squeeze, “We need you in Skyhold right now, Dorian. Someone needs to keep up the training with the mages, or we'll end up with the Chantry breathing down our necks. Besides, we'll need you when we finally find out where these... these...”

Cullen snapped his fingers as he groped for the words, Sera tilted her head to one side, “Blighted motherless arse-biscuits?”

“Yes, thank you, Sera. Dorian we need you here for when we find out where they're hiding and take the fight to them.”

They had reached the top of the hall and climbed the few steps that led to Josephine's office, Cullen's gaze skipped over the Inquisitor's throne sat on its dais. He hadn't been able to bring himself to use it; interim Inquisitor or not, it would just feel wrong. Josephine had tried to push the issue once, he'd quelled her with a look, and she'd, thankfully, let the matter drop. When he'd been called upon to address the nobles, he'd done so while standing in front of the throne. Cullen was immensely grateful he hadn't been asked to judge anyone yet, he'd refuse if it came to it, but he was hoping they'd find Ellana long before it came to that.

Cullen brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, his hair was still sodden and sticking to his nape. As he turned back to the others his gaze passed over Hawke, she was leaning against the heavy doors at the back of the hall and watching them. It seemed Cullen couldn't go anywhere in Skyhold without the Champion of Kirkwall watching him since her return to The Inquisition. Sometimes it felt like she was measuring him, judging him even, and he wasn't sure how he was fairing, but the fact that she was still in Skyhold must mean that he hadn't yet failed some test she'd set for him. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before turning to the others, “Keep at it. Tap every source of information we have. I know we're trying to find one elf in an entire country, but they didn't just disappear. Alexius will be here any day, but I'd rather not have all our dragon eggs in one -”

“Commander?” a heavily Orlesian accented voice called from the throng of nobles at the other end of the hall. One broke away from the pack and marched toward them. The bright colours of his mask matched his silks in a way that Cullen was sure wasn't accidental.

Sera scoffed, “What does this big-hat pissant want?” she asked, not too quietly,

“Hush,” Dorian hissed, “He might have news for us about Ell,” It said much about their current situation that Sera did actually shut up.

The Orlesian noble approached the four of them, the heels of his pointed shoes clacking on the flagged floor, “Commander Cullen, I was told to speak to you regarding any matter relating to The Inquisitor,”

Cullen blinked in surprise, and his hand dropped from his neck. Maybe Dorian was right and this man really did have a lead for them, “That is correct. What information do you bring?”

“Marquis d'Chardet, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. A pity it has taken so long,” the lord said, he made a flourish with one hand before dropping into a slight bow. Cullen heard Sera snort a little behind him, and the distinct sound of Dorian elbowing her in the side,

“My duties keep me somewhat distanced from the nobility, Marquis.” _Thank the Maker for that,_ Cullen added silently,

“Quite. As you're no doubt aware,” the noble began, his thick Orlesian accent turning somewhat lofty, “I am the head of one of the oldest houses in Lydes, something my neighbours seem to have forgotten. One of the local Lords, third son from a rather lower house, has begun to encroach on my lands. I ask that The Inquisition march a battalion of soldiers west to deal with this matter. I am sure that my family will be very grateful for the assistance.”

“But -” Cullen gripped the pommel of his sword to resist the urge to just ignore the noble altogether and continue his walk to the War Room, “But you said this was relating to The Inquisitor?”

“That is correct,” the Marquis nodded, when he spoke again it was much slower, as though having to explain something obvious to someone very stupid, “I brought this matter to the attention of The Inquisitor before any of this nonsense began.”

“Nonsense?” Cullen muttered under his breath, his hand tightened on the pommel of his sword for a very different reason,

“Alright, Sera,” Dorian sighed, “You win, pissant it is.”

Sera crossed her arms over her chest and Cullen had the distinct impression that Marquis d'Chardet was very lucky that Sera wasn't carrying her bow, “Ha, told you.”

“Marquis d'Chardet,” Cullen cleared his throat, “I'm very sorry to inform you that The Inquisition's forces are not at your disposal to settle disputes over land. And even if they were, those forces are currently occupied with keeping peace in the region, tracking The Believers and searching for The Inquisitor. I bid you good day.”

Cullen was actually rather pleased with himself when he turned back toward the War Room, he doubted even Josephine would have been able to find fault with his wording.

“Commander?” the Marquis reached out and caught hold of Cullen's arm, “Surely we can be reasonable? The gold I donated to The Inquisition while it was still in its infancy was quite the financial drain.”

Cullen ground his teeth together; he should have known that he couldn't get through a conversation with Orlesian nobility without wanting to kill someone. Still, at least this one wasn't grabbing his ass. Cullen bunched the muscles in his arm and the Marquis' hand fell away as he took a few steps backwards,

“Oh right, I bet you're blooming skint now,” Sera muttered mutinously, “Aww, what's wrong? Did the poor wittle noble have to sack his wiper?”

D'Chardet chose to ignore her, he treated the others as though they didn't exist and solely addressed Cullen, “I did a favour for The Inquisition, costing myself in both reputation and wealth. It is now time for The Inquisition to return that favour. _That_ is how the game is played.”

Even through the mask, Cullen could somehow make out the nobles smug smile, his voice was laced with it. It said that he was above them all, and they should be pleased he'd lowered himself enough to speak to them at all.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and begged the Maker for patience, “The Inquisition appreciates your aid, my Lord. However, as I said, our resources are being used to -”

“Bah!” the Marquis interrupted, cutting across Cullen's attempt to be polite with a sharp swipe of his hand, “I will not be pushed to the back of the line in terms of importance. The Inquisition is legion. You cannot possibly be using all your power and influence to find The Inquisitor. That is ludicrous. Preposterous. The world continues to turn, the loss of one elf hardly -”

“Get out.” Cullen growled, his voice was much lower than that of the Marquis, yet it carried across the hall, his tone clearly saying that he would brook no argument. The scowl that graced his face had caused more than one recruit to piss himself (literally, if barracks gossip was to be believed).

“Pardon me?” the chin of the noble jerked up as though Cullen had slapped him. Clearly this man didn't have the sense of even the most petulant of their recruits, Cullen's growl alone was usually enough to send them scurrying,

“Did I stutter? What part of “get out” did you find unclear? Pack up whatever Maker forsaken things you brought with you, and get out of our home before I throw you over the walls myself.”

“I really don't think there's any need -”

“You really don't think there's any need?” Cullen barked, he advanced down the steps toward the noble. The fur of his cloak added inches to his already broad shoulders, he was also at least half a foot taller than the Marquis and loomed menacingly over him, “You suggest that The Inquisition should halt in their mission of keeping the peace to tend to your petty land squabble. You insinuate that your need to lord over your neighbours is of more importance than finding and stopping The Believers,” his infuriated gaze was fixed on the Marquis, he hadn't noticed that his voice had risen with almost every word, it carried across the hall, ringing with authority. Every other person had turned to watch, glasses and goblets were held in lax hands as The Inquisition's Commander showed exactly why he'd come to have that title. He pointed a finger at the Marquis' chest, “And you have the audacity to say the loss of one elf? Did you, in your infallible wisdom, somehow forget that you are standing in _her_ home, surrounded by _her_ people?” he lowered his face until it was barely an inch away from d'Chardet's and dropped his voice into a menacing snarl, “Get. Out.”

Without another word, the Orlesian noble turned with a swish of silk and meekly walked back through the now silent hall. Hawke lifted one foot from where she rested against the double doors and kicked the doors open, but she refused to move for the Marquis, forcing him to dodge around her as he took the last few paces at a run to flee the hall as fast as he could.

Cullen looked up and noticed that every pair of eyes in the room were fixed firmly upon him. He met them all, his chin held high, “Do any of the rest of you have any suggestions as to how better The Inquisition can use their resources?” his booming voice echoed in the ringing silence that followed his question, each person he looked at shook their head before shifting their gaze to the ground, “Good.”

He caught Hawke's eye for just a split-second, she inclined her head at him in approval before he looked away. Turning on his heel, he nodded at Sera, Varric and Dorian, and opened the door to Josephine's office to _finally_ head to the War Room.

“Frig me!” he heard Sera crow as he stalked past, “Bad-ass! The pair of 'em. Who'd have thought Mr Stick-up-his-ass had it in him?”

Cullen didn't feel particularly bad-ass. He felt pissed off. He felt frustrated. And he was sick of being in the dark and always one step behind.

He'd had enough.

It was going to change.

They were going to find her, and they were going to find her now.

 

 

***

 

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

Ellana made her slow way back to consciousness, for a few blissful seconds she didn't remember where she was. In her groggy state, she thought she was in her own bed; in Skyhold, the home she'd chosen with the family she'd chosen filling the rooms. And the man she'd chosen wrapped around her. She tried to lift her arms, but the ropes stopped her. They dug into the grooves caused by countless hours of straining against the bonds. The fantasy dissolved in an instant. She was still in The Chair. That was how the words looked in her head, capitalised; The Chair.

She kept her eyes closed, maybe they'd think she was still asleep. She'd been healed, the agony that had driven her to unconsciousness had dampened to an all over body ache. It was a small comfort. They only healed her so they could start all over again.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

She could hear him humming. Gessius. He was humming to himself somewhere behind her. His was an insanity she had never encountered. Corypheus had been insane beyond a shadow of doubt, but Gessius was... he was something else entirely. Through everything he'd done to her, she'd seen no expression on his face. There was no anger, not even sick enjoyment. Just nothing. His was the expression of someone filing some particularly boring paperwork.

The humming grew closer, Ellana forced the tension out of her shoulders, begged her face to remain lax.

“Back with us, Inquisitor?” he asked, Ellana didn't breathe as she felt him bend closer to look at her. Roughly he gripped her chin in his hand, pinching her face as he twisted her head up toward him, “If you're going to pretend to be asleep then perhaps I'll just have to remove your eyelids to make sure they stay open.”

_Gods._

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his.

His fingers tightened further around her chin, and he slapped her cheek mockingly with the other hand, “See? That wasn't so hard, was it?”

He stepped back behind her and out of her line of sight.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

Ellana closed her eyes tightly as she prepared herself, pinching the lids so closely together that it forced her face to screw up into a grimace. Her teeth ground hard together as she clenched her jaw until it ached; she couldn't scream if her mouth was closed.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

She tightened her marked hand over the wooden armrest of The Chair. The rough ropes dug sharply into her wrist, the friction burned against the already tender skin. The wood was hard, and when her fingernails dug into it she could feel splinters penetrate the soft flesh under her short, ragged nails.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

The fingers on her other hand still weren't responding with the same accuracy as they had before she'd entered this room for the first time, the first time she'd sat in The Chair. What number visit was this? She could no longer remember. She'd thought the first would have been the worst, that maybe she would have gotten used to it over time. She had not. The sound her fingers had made as they'd been broken one at a time still echoed in her mind. Each digit had been forced backwards, stretching the tendons, small muscles and delicate bones until the pain was almost unbearable. Each time a finger had snapped, each time a joint had popped, the pain had been accompanied by an almost sick relief.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't -_

The metal tools on the table rattled together as one was picked up, and Ellana swallowed. Her breathing stuttered as her chest constricted. Cold dread pooled in her stomach, it cramped hard around the honeyed water they'd forced down her throat to sustain her. Her mouth and throat suddenly parched.

She heard his footsteps on the stone floor as he took his time approaching The Chair, the swish and flick of heavy fabric as his cloak slithered around his legs. She could hear the soft thud of metal on skin as he slapped the tool he'd selected against his palm with each step.

_A hammer. It sounds like a hammer. I won't scream, I won't scream._

“Are you going to give me what I want, Inquisitor?” he asked. The tone and wording of the question were exactly the same as it had been the first dozen times he'd asked. On the first few occasions, she'd answered with a resounding no. She no longer felt the need to answer the question. They both knew the answer she'd give.

She concentrated on her breathing, deep breaths in through her nose. She concentrated on maintaining her mask. She concentrated on not screaming.

_I won't scream, I won't scream, I won't scream._

There was no further warning before the hammer was slammed into her unmarked hand. Tiny, brittle, still-healing bones shattered and splintered in an explosion of agony. Fire burst its way through her hand and up her arm to her shoulder.

It was no use.

She threw her head back and screamed.

 


	28. Good Templar, Bad Templar.

“Are you sure that's all of them?” Cullen asked. His back gave a twinge as he uncurled himself from his position leant over the War Room table. He stretched it out, rubbing at the muscles that were protesting at too much time spent hunched over tables and not enough time in the training ring. He reached out to straighten an unaligned map marker, one of many that now littered their map of the Hissing Wastes, as though to tell his back to get used to it.

“I think so,” Varric said, he flipped one of the unused markers over his knuckles, making it vanish in one palm and reappear in the other. A trick that Cullen was sure the dwarf had learned from Cole. Cullen had half a mind to tell him to cut it out, it was distracting, but he bit his tongue. He'd been less than pleasant to his friends lately, they didn't seem to hold it against him, which only served to make Cullen feel worse when he _did_ snap at them. Twirling map markers was an easy thing to overlook, instead he turned his head to glance at Dorian and Bull, both of whom nodded in agreement.

Cullen had pulled the three of them into the War Room to go over the map because they'd been the ones to accompany Ellana when she'd visited to close the rifts in that region. Hawke had followed Varric but with the air, at least temporarily, cleared between them Cullen didn't really mind her presence.

“Of course,” Varric continued, “Just because there are dwarven ruins, that doesn't mean there are Deep Roads entrances.”

“I know, but the Venatori had a large presence in the Hissing Wastes, so you never know,” Cullen tried hard not to think about the phrase _grasping at straws_ but it came unbidden anyway, “If our people out there know where the ruins are, then at least it gives them a place to start. They can fan out from there, see if they find anything.”

He hoped the optimism in his voice didn't sound as forced as it felt. To give his hands something to do, Cullen started to note down the locations on a piece of paper to send to their scouts.

“I haven't been to the Hissing Wastes, what's it like?” Hawke asked, she was lounging in one of the chairs and looking thoroughly bored by their close examination of the map,

“Sandy and unnecessarily big.” Cullen replied immediately, he was concentrating on getting the co-ordinates right and hadn't realised he was going to answer until the words left his lips. He glanced up to see Hawke's bemused expression, “That was literally all Ellana wrote on her report; sandy and unnecessarily big.”

“Big and sandy?” Hawke smirked, “That's it?”

“Pretty much,” Cullen shrugged, he felt a smile start to pull at his mouth, a rarity these days, as he remembered the conversation they'd had when she'd returned from that particular mission, “Then she started talking about going to the hot springs in Emprise DuLion once the war was over, we never did get back to talking about the desert.”

“Nice,” Varric nodded, looking rather impressed,

“I don't remember you and the Boss taking off to Emprise DuLion,” Iron Bull said,

Dorian shuddered, “I don't see why you'd want to,” his hands rubbed at his arms, “Snow and mountains and more snow. Ugh.”

“Yeah, but hot springs, kadan,” Bull nudged the mage with his elbow, nearly sending Dorian sprawling over the table, “Hot springs, dragons and good company! What more does a man need? Cullen gets it.”

Cullen felt the small smile slide from his face, and he cleared his throat, “I don't actually. We never made it, things kept coming up, we never found the time.”

Cullen controlled the wince that wanted to accompany the sharp stab of regret in his chest. Emprise DuLion, visiting her clan and his family, there were a lot of things they thought they'd have time to do.

The others exchanged looks in the awkward silence that followed. An awkward silence that probably felt a lot longer than it actually was.

“Shit,” Hawke snorted, “You guys are such downers. And that's coming from someone that spent the better part of six years in the company of Fenris and Anders.”

“Come on, Hawke,” Varric said, looking more than a little offended, “We're not as bad as Fenris! Fenris is the broodiest elf that ever brooded.”

“You're not that far off, trust me.”

“I liked the Hissing Wastes,” Bull said, looking thoughtful,

“No, you didn't,” Dorian scoffed, “You complained constantly, you only changed your mind after we found that dragon.”

“Ha, that's right!” Varric laughed, he gleefully pulled himself up as tall as he could and mimed horns with his fingers, “The sand itches my horns,” he growled, his voice deep and rumbling, “Sand blowing on sand in a place full of wind and sand.”

“I do _not_ sound like that.”

“Tiny, you sound _exactly_ like that. You were so bad that 'Lea tried to sneak us away from camp while you were still asleep. I remember -”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted Varric, and one of Leliana's messengers stuck her head around the door, “Commander Cullen? Magister Alexius has arrived.”

“Thank you,” Cullen nodded, trying to ignore the sudden swooping sensation in his stomach, “Have him brought to the library,”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Samson too.”

The messenger nodded before vanishing again.

“Samson?” Hawke asked, her eyebrows practically in her hairline, “As in...?”

“Kirkwall Samson?” Cullen asked. He met Hawke's eyes, half expecting to see accusation there, but was surprised when all he saw was incredulity, “Yes.”

“But what -”

“It's a long story,” Varric interjected, “I'll tell you over a drink.”

“Or just wait until I get back and you'll hear the unabridged version,” Cullen muttered, hastily jotting down the last few co-ordinates and slipping them into a folder to drop off at the rookery. He was about to leave when Dorian joined him, the usual easy smile had been replaced by a frown and a strained look around his eyes, “Dorian, you don't have to accompany me, I know you haven't spoken to Alexius since he...”

“Since he tried to erase myself and The Inquisitor from time itself?” Dorian tried to smile, but to Cullen it looked more like a grimace, “Alexius was once my patron and mentor. He's more likely to talk to me than he is to you. We were friends once, it will help if I'm there.”

Cullen opened his mouth to insist that Dorian really needn't trouble himself when a paragraph from Dorian's section of the folder flashed behind Cullen's eyes;

_Dorian... Dorian is the greatest friend I have ever known, he is my hearts brother, and I love him as such. He is also one of the bravest men I have ever met, second only to you; he left everything he has ever known to join us, because he knew it was right. The path he has chosen to walk is one that many others wouldn't have the courage to choose. If he ever gives you the chance to join him on that path, even if it is only for a moment, then take it and you will be forever grateful that you did. Walk with him._

“Thank you.” Cullen said, gripping Dorian briefly by the elbow,

Dorian's grimace shifted more toward his real smile, “Don't go getting soft on me now, Commander. Buy me a drink later, and we're even.”

“You're shitting me!” Hawke blurted out, “Sorry, sorry,” she waved “I know you're trying to have a moment over there, but this magister tried to _erase you from time?!”_

“I don't think even Varric can make that story any more insane than it actually was, so he can tell you that one,” Cullen said before turning to Varric, “Round everyone up in The Den in the slim chance that this actually helps?”

“Sure thing, Curly. Good luck.”

 

“How do you want to handle this?” Cullen asked Dorian as the two of them hurried across the Great Hall and up the stairs to the library,

“Let's stick to the classics, that scowl of yours is made for the old good Templar, bad Templar routine.”

“I don't think that's going to be much of a stretch right now, to be honest,” Cullen said dryly.

Outside the library door he paused to take a few deep, cleansing breaths, tapping the slim folder against the palm of his free hand. This wasn't going to be easy, but putting it off wasn't going to make it any easier, and every minute they waited was another minute that Ellana was... without finishing the thought, Cullen pushed the door open.

The library was quieter than Cullen had ever seen it during the day, the usual inhabitants had been cleared out for their meeting. The sharp caws of Leliana's ravens floated down from the floor above, they seemed louder without the usual background sounds of voices and the leaf of pages. Only one person currently occupied the room; Samson was already waiting for them, seated at one of the tables by the door. Under the care of The Inquisition, Samson looked marginally healthier than he had during the war, his cheeks were still gaunt, and there were still heavy bags around his eyes, but his skin wasn't quite as waxy as it had been. The simple clothing that The Inquisition had provided showed muscle that appeared healthier than it had been when Samson had first been deprived of his lyrium infused armour. Even before Samson had joined Corypheus, he hadn't had the head for leadership, the stress had taken much from him. Of course, it could also be because he was now being given high-quality lyrium at the correct dosage. Still, no one, not Cullen, Samson, Ellana, nor anyone else were under any illusion; Samson had abused lyrium, and specifically red lyrium, for far too long, it would take him eventually. His resistance and strong will were the only things that had allowed him to survive this long.

Unfortunately, the Templars that Samson had taken with him had not fared anywhere near as well. Cullen couldn't so much as glance at the man and not feel anger and disgust for what he'd done.

 _Half the time I'm not sure who you're angrier with, him or Corypheus._ Ellana had said that to him when they'd been hunting Samson down, half the time Cullen hadn't known which he was angrier with either.

Playing the part of Dorian's 'bad Templar' wasn't going to be difficult, on the contrary, the hard part was going to be keeping his temper. Cullen still wasn't entirely convinced that he and Ellana had made the right decision in letting Samson live. If he proved himself useful today, however, then Cullen would never question it again.

Samson's lip curled as he leant back in his chair, “The mighty Commander Cullen lowering himself to talk to the prisoner?” he glanced over Cullen's shoulder as though expecting to see someone else with them, his eyes narrowed a little when he saw only Dorian, “Just the two of you? A shame. I haven't seen The Inquisitor in some time. Such a sweet girl, I miss our chats.”

“Samson...” Cullen warned,

“She has quite an... interesting view on the Templars. Given her circumstances.”

“Given that she's a mage, you mean?” Cullen snapped, rising to Samson's attempt to bait him into an argument despite himself,

“An apostate, not just a mage.”

“The order made all mages apostates when they abandoned their posts, as did the circle mages when they voted to rebel,” Cullen reminded him,

“As if the blighted Chantry didn't force our hands!”

Cullen opened his mouth to argue, but managed to bite the words off at the last moment. Arguing this with Samson was a waste of both time and energy, neither of which Cullen had to spare. He put the folder down on the table and rubbed the back of his neck, “That is not what we're here to discuss,” he said slowly, forcing civility into his tone,

“Come off it, Knight-Captain,” Samson scoffed, Cullen noted the use of his Templar title but chose not to rise to it and correct him, “You didn't believe the lies The Chantry force-fed us any more than I did.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him, “True. But, you'll notice, _I_ didn't join Corypheus in an attempt to sunder the veil and kill us all.”

“You really think your Inquisition would have taken me?” Samson scowled,

“You're still here, are you not?”

“As if I have a bloody choice,” Samson said bitterly, rattling the bonds between his wrists,

“And where would you go if we were to release you?” Cullen asked, “Back to begging on the streets of Kirkwall? You wouldn't get a dozen steps from our gates before someone cut you down for what you've done.”

“Huh,” Samson chuckled a harsh laugh, “A mage imprisoning a Templar as much for their own safety as others?”

“Believe me, I get the irony,” Cullen drawled, “But sparing your miserable life wasn't The Inquisitor's decision. It was mine.”

“Yours?” Samson asked sceptically.

In this case, Cullen knew Samson's scepticism was well-founded. Cullen still wasn't sure what had possessed him to ask Ellana to spare Samson's life if she could. He was pretty sure she'd been as surprised as he was.

“Before the assault on the Arbour Wilds,” Cullen nodded, “The Inquisitor asked what she should do with you. I asked her to spare you, if she could without endangering any of our people. Whether we agree with The Chantry or not, we were brothers once. That means something.”

Samson's mouth twisted into a sneer, “And how many of our brothers are still forcefully having their minds destroyed by lyrium?”

“None that have joined The Inquisition. Lyrium is optional here, you'd know that if you'd bothered to ask. The first thing Ellana did after we made her Inquisitor was to open a clinic for any Templar that wanted to stop taking lyrium. Those that wanted to leave afterwards were free to do so, without any obligation. Those that wanted to stay were welcome within The Inquisition. A surprising number _did_ stay, they still wanted to serve something greater than themselves.”

“Why?” Samson asked, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice, “Why would she do that?”

_No one should have to go through this alone._

Her voice echoed in Cullen's head, his hand closed tightly over the pommel of his sword and squeezed, “Because she wanted to.”

Samson looked at Cullen in silence, as though he were trying to decide if Cullen was lying. Cullen just stared back, at this point he didn't particularly care if Samson believed him or not. After a few seconds Samson was apparently satisfied that he'd been told the truth, he leant forward in his chair, his thoughtful gaze shifted to the table in front of him.

The quiet was short-lived, Cullen and Dorian barely had time to exchange a glance before the door opened again and Alexius walked in flanked by a pair of guards.

Cullen heard Dorian choke off a gasp. It wasn't difficult to guess why.

In the time that Alexius had been a prisoner of The Inquisition, he seemed to have aged ten years. New lines had formed around his eyes, hair that had once only been dusted with grey was now a snowy white. The healthy weight and muscle he'd had previously was almost entirely gone. He looked haggard, almost as though he was just wasting away.

The Inquisition didn't treat their prisoners badly, this wasn't the result of bad treatment on their part. This wasn't a result of neglect, Cullen realised, this was grief.

The shock on Dorian's face was plain to see, but it wasn't pity that Cullen felt, it was anger. He was furious.

The one thing he didn't need right now was more anger. The impotent rage that fed the panic rat had been bubbling inside him since South Reach, it was vaguely reminiscent of how he'd felt while going through lyrium withdrawal. He hadn't wanted a pathetic, frail looking old man. He'd wanted an arrogant Tevinter Magister to rail at and blame.

The two Inquisition guards that flanked Alexius greeted Cullen with salutes over their chests, Cullen nodded at them and inclined his head toward the door, dismissing the pair of them wordlessly. He was too busy clenching his teeth together to speak.

Alexius took a few shuffling steps into the room and sat in the chair that Cullen stiffly pulled out from the table,

“Hello, Alexius.” Dorian said quietly, “It's been a while.”

“Ah, Dorian. It _has_ been a long time. I must admit, I'm rather surprised you're still here.”

“Oh yes, I'm sure my family simply cannot wait to welcome me back to Minrathous. They'll welcome me home with open arms as I take my father's seat in the Magisterium.”

“Indeed. Though, from what I've heard, there have been whispers of change in the Magisterium as of late. The influence of you and your Inquisitor, no doubt. Speaking of which...?” Alexius let the sentence trail off as he made a show of looking around the otherwise abandoned library,

“I was just thinking the same thing myself,” Samson muttered.

Cullen took a deep breath, “The Inquisitor has recently been taken prisoner by what we believe to be the last hold-outs of the Venatori. As the leaders of the Red Templars and the Venatori, you're here because we require your aid in getting her back.”

Samson merely lifted his brows, his hollow cheeks sucked in tight.

Alexius, on the other hand, looked flabbergasted, “I think I'm ready to be returned to my guards,” the magister said, starting to rise to his feet.

Cullen put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair, “You're not going anywhere until I've had some answers.”

Alexius twisted in his seat to throw Cullen a glare, “Really? And why should I help you?”

“Let me put it this way; The Inquisitor is a much more generous person than I. Had I been casting judgement on you, than you would not be sat here today. With her gone and myself in charge, well...” Cullen let the threat remain unspoken, but Alexius didn't look even remotely concerned,

“Ha,” Samson scoffed, “Your threat rings hollow, Commander. No sworn member of The Inquisition would -”

Cullen's sharp gaze snapped from Alexius to Samson, the look was enough to silence Cullen's former brother. “Believe me when I say the list of things I _won't_ do grows shorter by the hour. Test my word, by all means.”

“I requested execution, as you'll recall,” Alexius said, already looking rather bored with the whole thing, “Your threats mean nothing to me.”

Cullen's already exhausted patience stretched to almost breaking point. The odds of him getting through this conversation without killing one, or both, of them was shrinking by the moment.

He leant forward so his lower arm rested on the back of Alexius' chair, his face only a few inches from the magisters. This close Cullen could see how thin the skin was that stretched over Alexis' skull, far too many sleepless nights and weight lost too quickly had taken its toll, “Then how about anything that happens to her, happens to you five-fold?” Cullen seethed, breathing heavily through his nose in an effort not to lose his temper.

Dorian took hold of Cullen's arm and tugged him away, “Alexius, please,” Dorian implored, “If you won't help for us, for Ell or for yourself, then do it for Felix.”

“My son was -”

“Your son wasn't you!” Dorian's voice verged on a shout as he threw his arms up in exasperation, “You know as well as I do that had Felix not died of the blight then he would probably be stood right here next to me. The whispers of change you've heard in the Magisterium? That's due to Felix more than The Inquisitor and I.”

Alexius had paled, his hands had clutched each other on the table, but his voice was steady and quiet when he spoke, “Do not attempt to use my poor dead son to manipulate me, Dorian.”

“I'm not,” Dorian said, the passion fell from his voice, the exasperation was replaced with weary sadness, “I'm telling you the truth. Felix knew what was right and what wasn't. The same as you did before grief half destroyed you. The Alexius I knew was brilliant, stubborn, but brilliant. He would never have gone to the Venatori or Corypheus, you did that for Felix, to save him. I knew that, and so did he. I wasn't there for either of you when you needed me, maybe if I had been then we wouldn't be here now. I can't change my mistakes any more than you can. But we both know that if Felix was here, then he'd want you to help us.”

Alexius' expression became thoughtful as he turned away to look at a wall, “You're right. He would.”

“Then?”

Alexius took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Cullen could have sworn his heart didn't beat at all in those few seconds of silence, without even realising he was doing it he leant forward on his toes in anticipation, _come on, you know where she is, you might not even know that you know, but you do. Maker, please, let him know._

Alexius released his hands from their claw-like grip and flattened them out on the surface of the table, “What is it you wish to know?”

Cullen felt his entire body sag with relief, Dorian inclined his head slightly and took a step back to allow Cullen to take over the questioning, “How many groups were active when Corypheus was alive? What did you do?”

“The Elder One wasn't expecting betrayal, he considered himself above such things,” Alexius said, “But he was still cautious. We didn't know what other groups were doing, or even that they existed at all. I wasn't aware, for instance, that he was also seeking aid from the Templars.”

Samson sat up as though slapped, “Is that a note of disdain I hear, mage? At least the Templars were serving something larger than themselves. We weren't serving our own selfish -”

“My son -”

“Enough, both of you.” Cullen snapped, “Samson, if you have nothing of value to add, then be silent.” Samson looked almost petulant, but he returned his gaze to the table, and Cullen turned back to Alexius, “So you never knew what anyone else was planning?” He had already prepared himself for this meeting being yet another dead-end, but he was disappointed nonetheless,

“No, I heard only rumours, and they were vague at best. Does this group of yours have a name?”

“The Believers.”

“Truly?” Alexius scoffed, “A trifle cliched, but it holds no hidden meaning to me.”

Almost in desperation Cullen looked to Samson, but Cullen's ex-brother simply grunted and shook his head.

 _Makers breath, a total waste of time._ Cullen turned from the prisoners with a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. _What are we going to do now?_

“How about the Deep Roads?” Dorian blurted out, “Did either of you use them? Do you know of any hidden entrances?”

Alexius shook his head, “There are no Deep Roads entrances near Redcliffe, or at least none that I know of.”

“Corypheus was interested in elven artefacts, not dwarven,” Samson added, “We spent most of our time in the Arbor Wilds, as you bloody well know.”

“The Red Templars were based in the Wilds?” Alexius asked Samson in surprise,

“We searched the Arbor Wilds for elven ruins, but our stronghold was in the Shrine of Dumat.”

Alexius glanced up at Cullen, “I assume you've already checked there?”

“A scouting party passed nearby,” Cullen nodded, the information had been in one of the thousands of reports he'd read, “they reported no movement.”

“Well, not on the surface. You do know, of course, that the Shrine of Dumat _is_ a Deep Roads entrance?” Cullen and Samson exchanged a confused look, “For two men that spent most of their lives in a tower, one would think you'd open a book from time to time. Dumat was an Old God, the first archdemon, and was worshipped by the dwarves. Naturally, most of his shrine is underground.”

“I didn't see anything like that,” Samson said,

“I imagine it's hidden,” Alexius nodded, “But I assure you, it _is_ there.”

Dorian looked at Cullen, the start of a grin forming under his moustache, one eyebrow cocked, “Cliched, dramatic, and thoroughly over the top?” he said, counting the points off on his fingers,

“That's enough evidence for me,” Cullen said, already starting to feel renewed with energy, they had a lead, finally, “Let's go.”

Leaving both Samson and Alexius where they were, Cullen and Dorian hurried to The Den.

 


	29. The comfort of prayer.

Ellana landed hard on her shoulder on the cold stone floor of her cell. The guard didn't pause to see if she would rise, he marched back out the door, slamming it closed behind him and leaving her with nothing but the cold, dark and that damn drip for company. She heard the loud click of the lock and let out a shuddery breath, sending dust and grit to billow up into her face. The dust tickled the back of her throat and, too late, she realised her mistake. She tried to hold her breath anyway, listened to the drip, clenched her fists and clamped her lips closed. _Don't think about coughing, don't think —_ it was no use. The cough burst from her without her permission, pain shot through her ribs like bolts of lightning. She pulled her knees up to her chest and coughed until tears sprang to her eyes. Between coughs she ground her teeth together, determined not to cry out and alert her guards to her suffering; they'd seen enough of that already. Seen too much of it, far more than she'd wanted them to see. Her injuries had barely healed after the last time she'd been dragged into the magister's study. Since the last time she'd been forced to sit in The Chair. Gessius was adept at healing spells, she'd give him that much. That was, of course, part of the problem. He could inflict injuries and pain upon her, heal her up and try again. And again.

His control was remarkable, he knew precisely how much to heal her to make sure she stayed alive and conscious, but not so much that the pain stopped entirely. With a new Red Templar constantly on guard outside her cell to suppress her magic, she couldn't do a thing to heal herself further.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, the coughs subsided. Taking as shallow breaths as she could manage, she wrapped her arms around herself. Her long leather coat — softened by months of almost constant wear until it felt like a second skin — had been taken by The Believers, along with her gloves, boots and leather jerkin. A small wave of sadness washed over her at the thought of that jerkin. It was a silly thing to be sad about, given her current circumstances, but it had been her favourite. It was the first thing Adan had made for her after their arrival at Skyhold; a gift in exchange for her saving his family's hammer, he'd said. He'd inserted panels into the front and back, using a green-dyed leather that was a favourite of the Dalish, and had hand-stitched small leaves and vines to weave their way up her sides. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the leather supple when she'd run her hand over it. He'd become flustered by her thank-you hug, his red moustache twitching under his nose and a flush rising up his neck, but the small act of kindness had touched her deeply. She really would miss that jerkin. She could really use it now, the thin and still damp cotton of her tunic did nothing to stop the penetrating cold of the stone floor.

She tightened her arms around her middle; shivering certainly wasn't going to help her injured ribcage. And, _Gods,_ her head ached. Every random thought that passed through her mind seemed to make it ache further.

How many times was it? She wondered, how many times had Gessius tried to invade her mind through blood magic? To try to control her and force her to do his bidding? She'd tried to keep count at first, tried to give her mind something else to focus on, but over the course of the last couple of hours she had lost count. He'd attempted to invade her thoughts over and over, leaving her physically and mentally exhausted. Her hair had hung in limp silver rat-tails, damp with her own sweat, it had hidden her face as she sat shaking in The Chair, her bonds the only thing still keeping her upright. All she knew was that, eventually, Gessius had realised that his own blood magic wasn't going to be enough. She _was_ a mage after all, and a stubborn, strong-willed one at that. Dominating her will through blood magic was never going to be an easy undertaking. That was when they'd brought _him_ in.

Ellana rolled her head on the floor, mindful not to take large breaths lest it reawaken the pain in her ribs, and laid her forehead against the cool stone. She closed her eyes, but it did little to stop the images from parading behind her eyelids. She feared she'd be seeing those images every time she closed her eyes for quite some time.

 

He'd walked into the room freely, the weak-link warrior that Ellana had last seen unconscious on the floor of her cell. Perhaps he wasn't quite as weak as she'd thought. They hadn't had to shackle him or drag him into the room while he begged for his life. He'd come calmly, almost sedately; a well-behaved lamb to the slaughter.

Ellana didn't have to wonder why this particular man had been chosen, it had been him that had allowed her to almost escape, after all. It was his fault that many of their number now lay dead in some other cell in this Gods forsaken place.

If he felt any regret for his actions, then Ellana couldn't see it. The Chair left her sitting several feet below him, she had to crane her neck up to look into his face. His nose was flattened against his face, it bulged in the middle from where her forehead had connected with the soft cartilage, both of his eyes were still sporting dark purple bruises. Yet he looked determined, his expression seemed to be carved from stone. For the first few beats of her heart Ellana assumed they'd brought him into the room to beat her, she'd almost been relieved. After hours spent fighting off Gessius' repeated attempts at mind control, a good old-fashioned beating felt like a reprieve more than anything else. He'd held eye contact for a long moment before turning from her, dismissing her completely, to stand before Gessius, his head bowed respectfully,

“Do you know why you have been summoned from your duties?” Gessius asked,

“Yes, master,” the warrior answered, “I understand what I must do.”

“Very good.”

The warrior dropped to one knee, his chin on his chest. Gessius looked at her over the warriors head, meeting her puzzled gaze for just a second as he smiled. His smile was snake-like, calculating and cold. Ellana suppressed the shiver that tried to make its way up her spine before he looked away.

Gessius' hand was still wet and red with his own blood when he reached out and placed his bloodied palm on the top of the warriors head. Together they muttered some words that Ellana didn't understand. She recognised the inflections as Tevene, but Dorian had only taught her the swear words. This, however, sounded more like a prayer. It was melodic, almost pretty, but the comfort of prayer was the furthest thing from Ellana's mind as it dawned on her what was happening,

“A sacrifice,” she muttered aloud, her eyes sliding closed on a groan.

 _Gods, I am really starting to hate that word,_ she thought.

Ellana knew little of blood magic; she knew it was banned by The Chantry, even her own Keeper had spoken rarely on the topic. It was always discussed in the same tone; hushed, as though Falon'Din himself might hear and strike the speaker down. Solas was the only person she'd known that would speak plainly on the subject of blood magic, though he never practised the art itself.

Blood magic was shrouded in mystery, there was, however, one fact that she did know; the magic born from the use of blood was stronger when the blood was taken from someone else.

The prayer ended and the warrior rose to his feet. Gessius lifted his dagger from his desk, the handle was encrusted with jewels, his dried blood still clung to its sharp edge. He pressed the blade to the soft flesh of his thumb, blood seeped from the wound and dripped to the floor. He drew the tip of his injured thumb down the centre of the warrior's forehead and down his ruined nose, leaving a red trail in its wake.

The warrior turned to face her, meeting her eyes again before lifting his chin and exposing his throat for the magister's blade,

“You can still change your mind, Inquisitor,” Gessius said, his dagger pressed into the warrior's throat. A small bead of blood escaped to run down the warrior's neck and disappear into his armour, “This man doesn't need to die. Bend to my will, and you will save his life.”

_Oh, you bastard, Dread Wolf take you, you fucking bastard._

Ellana tried to swallow, her throat was suddenly parched, no moisture was left in her mouth. Her stomach churned, her pulse thudded thickly in her ears, “You don't need to do this,” she told the warrior, “It won't change anything. You won't get the anchor. I won't open The Breach. I can't, even if I could, I wouldn't. You're throwing your life away for nothing!” he didn't even look at her, his eyes were fixed resolutely on the ceiling, “Please,” she tried, begging now, “Please, I can't do what he asks. Just leave.”

“Are you really going to let me cut this man's throat in front of you?” Gessius asked, amusement danced in his voice, “You're killing him as surely as I. Do as I ask, and he can live.”

 _And how many will die if I open the Fade for them? How many has this warrior already killed? Five villages. Five villages. Five fucking villages!_ She repeated it to herself like a mantra, _five villages._

She met Gessius' eyes over the warrior's shoulder, his were devoid of emotion. Gone was the man that had lashed out at her in a fit of temper, the man that looked at her now was the same one that had shared the room with her for every second she spent strapped in The Chair. This man looked as though he'd never felt an ounce of passion in his life, had never felt _anything,_ in fact.

She slammed a lid on her own emotions and shook her head, forcing steel and defiance into her voice, “No.”

She'd barely finished forming the word when Gessius drew the dagger across the warrior's throat.

A shower of blood poured from the opening.

Ellana reeled back as it hit her, a scalding hot fountain of blood.

Sheets of it, so much more than she'd been expecting, splashed onto the floor, coating her bare feet. She gagged on the coppery, cloying sweet smell of it.

Gessius let the warrior's body crumple unceremoniously to the floor. His empty, dead eyes bored into hers, the startlingly pretty green already starting to dull. The dagger clattered down next to him.

The magister shook his drenched sleeve, small droplets flicked up to splatter Ellana in the face.

He didn't wait for the shock and horror to diminish, he stepped over his fallen sacrifice and advanced on her.

Ellana struggled in The Chair, the rough rope of her bonds cut into her wrists as she pulled against them to no avail. She looked down and saw that the tunic that had once been white was now almost entirely red. She gagged again, her empty stomach rolled as it tried to evict what wasn't there. Her heart raced, threatening to break out through her ribs, her chest heaving with harsh panting breaths. Darkness swam at the edge of her vision, trying to pull her under entirely as a cold sweat broke out over her entire body.

She attempted to push back with her feet, anything to get away. Slick with blood, her bare soles slipped across the stone, sending her and The Chair toppling backwards to the floor with a crash.

Gessius didn't speak, he hunkered down next to her and pressed his bloodstained thumb into the centre of her forehead. Ellana rolled her head, trying to get out from under his hand, but there was nowhere to go.

Her teeth ground together so hard that she could hear them creak. Every muscle tensed until it was painful. His whisper in her mind told her, begged her, to just give in. If she gave in then it was over. The pain would end. She could rest.

 _No! Fuck you!_ She silently screamed at that whispering voice.

But she could already feel herself failing.

Light receded. She was falling. Falling down a long, dark pit. Nothing was at the bottom of this pit. Just endless falling forever in inky blackness. She could hear her own screams echoing around her, drowning out the whisper.

She knew she'd failed. He had the anchor. He was going to use her. She'd open the fade for him. He'd kill them all. Everyone in Skyhold. Her family. Cullen. They were all going to die. All of them. And it was her fault; she'd failed them.

She wasn't sure if the thoughts were her own, or something forced into her mind by Gessius. It didn't matter, the results were the same. They were going to die because -

She heard a scream of rage. Rage that didn't belong to her. Her cries were of anguish, not rage.

 _The fade!_ The whisper became a shriek tinged with undeniable madness, _It's tied to the damn fade!_

She slammed back into herself. Her eyes flew open, darting around and rolling in their sockets. Her throat felt as ripped open as the warrior's, she could taste blood in her mouth. Rolling her head to the side she took great, whooping breaths, choking a little on the taste as blood trickled down the back of her throat.

Anger had robbed Gessius of his composure. His mouth twisted into a sneer, the normally empty eyes snapped with fire. Mana surrounded him, the air around his hands crackled with it.

“It didn't work, did it?” she croaked, “Blood magic doesn't draw from the fade, but the anchor does. Blood magic can't control it.”

All that effort? The seemingly endless fight of keeping him out of her mind? The sacrifice? It was all for nothing.

She'd put herself through all of that for... nothing? She may as well have rolled out the welcome mat for him on his first attempt.

She couldn't help it. It wasn't bravado, it wasn't her Inquisitor mask. It was all her. Maybe it had a slight tinge of insanity to it, more than a little hysteria, and it certainly wasn't the laugh that normally burst from her when she was with Cullen. But it _was_ a laugh. She laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and the already sore muscles of her stomach cramped in protest, but still she couldn't stop.

“Stop it!” Gessius screamed, “Stop laughing!”

“But -” she squeezed her eyes closed to send the tears to run down her cheeks, leaving clean trails in the blood on her face, “But it didn't — Gods — the welcome mat!” her giggles only seemed to get worse, her torn throat burned, her head span, she laughed so hard she could barely breathe.

“I said shut up!” Gessius shouted again. He buried his hands in his own hair, pulling at it like a man possessed, large chunks came away in his fingers, the rest was left standing on end, the grey streaked with red from the blood on his hands,

“Oh, if you could see your face -” she couldn't finish the sentence, Gessius drew his foot back and kicked, his boot connecting with her ribs. Still tied to The Chair, Ellana couldn't roll away, couldn't protect herself as the air was driven from her lungs. He kicked her again. Somewhere in the back of her head, she could still feel herself laughing her half-insane half-hysterical laugh, driving him into a frenzy as his foot struck her over and over.

Eventually he bent at the waist, his hands braced on his knees to catch his breath while Ellana was left shaking and broken on the floor. After a moment he grabbed the front of her tunic, lifting her half off the ground until they were almost nose-to-nose. She could barely see him, one of her eyes was already swollen closed from where one of his kicks had hit her in the face. She could feel his hot, rancid breath on her face each time he panted, mana still crackled around his hands,

“Kill me,” she hissed through swollen lips, her tongue thick and sore from where she'd bitten almost straight through it, “Go ahead and kill me, because you're never getting the anchor.”

Temptation flashed across his face, for just one beat of her heart she thought he was actually going to do it, put that energy dancing at his fingertips to good use.

Then his expression shuttered, the nothing she was so used to seeing flattened his features again, and he dropped her back to the floor.

“Guards!” he called, the door opened immediately, a Red Templar and a mage stepped into the room, “Heal her and return her to her cell. And have someone come in here and clean this mess up.” he waved his hand over the dead body of the weak-link warrior and the pool of blood he was lying in, before turning his back on Ellana and serenely taking his seat behind his desk.

 

Back in her cell, Ellana curled into herself tighter. She'd managed to shuffle across the room and prop herself up in a corner. It had felt like a victory in Gessius' office, but it didn't feel quite so much like one now. Blood magic hadn't worked. Beating her hadn't worked. She hadn't left them any choice, there was only one avenue left open to them;

 _They're going to make you tranquil._ Cullen's deep voice echoed in her mind.

She pulled the coin he'd given her from where she'd hidden it in her bra, the only hiding place she could think of, and wrapped the delicate silver chain around her hand.

_I love you. You know that, right?_

_I love you too._

“Come on, Cullen,” she muttered aloud, “Could really do with a rescue right about now.”

It was a pointless dream, she knew that. How could he ever think to look for her here?

Ellana hadn't prayed since she was a child. Cullen had faith in the Maker, she'd heard him sing the chant, it was beautiful. She wasn't the praying type, but tonight seemed like a good night to give it a try.

 

 


	30. Inspirational bullshit.

From the outside, The Shrine of Dumat looked exactly the same as it had the first time Cullen had been there. A cold breeze whistled around the abandoned courtyard, whipping against the old, tattered Templar banners that still hung, wet and dripping, from the walls. Scorch marks from old campfires had scarred the flagged ground in front of the remains of tents. The tents that hadn't totally collapsed were rotting; mildew grew on the fabric, left abandoned to the elements. Cullen didn't bother to explore the courtyard beyond a cursory glance, but he couldn't see anything that looked obviously out of place,

“It looks deserted,” Varric muttered, looking thoroughly miserable with the weather, his nose and cheeks were flushed pink and rainwater dripped from his chin. He grumpily shifted some debris with his foot, “You sure this information of yours is reliable?”

“Not even remotely,” Cullen answered, “But it's the only lead we have. And if we're right then we wouldn't see anything on the surface anyway, we need to go further in.”

“Then lead the way, Curly. At least it'll be dry in there.”

No one argued when Cullen left the courtyard to climb the steps toward the huge wooden doors that covered the entrance to the shrine. For a moment Cullen thought maybe the doors were locked, he pushed hard and the hinges squealed in protest.

 _If the hinges have rusted then the door hasn't been opened, they're not here._ Cullen pushed back at the dread, _if they're here, then they're not using the door, they're using the Deep Roads._ With new resolve, he finally managed to force the doors open, and lead his large group of companions inside.

The inside of the shrine hadn't fared much better than the outside. The entrance hall was as abandoned as the courtyard, but with the added charm of red lyrium. Cullen eyed it warily as he passed, large shards protruded from the ground, towering almost as high as the huge vaulted ceiling. Some had collapsed under their own weight, smaller splinters littered the ground. Cullen kicked one of the small splinters out of his path, and it shattered when his foot connected,

“What the -”

Drawing his sword, Cullen approached one of the larger spires that had, at some point, burst through the floor. The strong sharp song he'd heard the last time he'd been around large quantities of red lyrium was muted, as though far away or under water. The song of red lyrium was different to the blue lyrium he'd been so addicted to while with The Chantry; similar to how soft and warm Ellana's magic was when compared to Dorian's brashness, red lyrium had a different feel. It was sharp, with a bitter edge, something about it was so wrong that he felt it in his very blood.

He gave the spire an experimental tap with the flat of his blade. Cracks split the lyrium, branching out quickly from the impact to skitter with alarming speed over his head. Hawke grabbed his arm and yanked him sharply backward, a split-second before a chunk fell from the top and shattered on the spot he'd been standing on only a moment before,

“Fucking hell, Cullen. Pay attention.” she snapped. Cullen looked down at the shattered crystal then back at Hawke, he wasn't entirely sure about what had just happened.

_Did Hawke just save my life?_

“Erm, thanks?” he said uncertainly.

Hawke rolled her eyes and nudged the red lyrium out of their path carefully with her foot, “Yeah? Well, don't tell anyone.” she grumbled.

“Let's not play with the red stuff, okay people?” Varric called across the hall, keeping as far away from the lyrium as he could manage, “I can't believe I just had to say that out loud.”

“Shit, Varric,” Hawke cursed as she and Cullen made their way back to the others, “I know you said the situation with the red lyrium was bad, but I didn't know you meant it was _bad_ bad.”

“I know, right?” Varric said, glancing around in a circle at the huge quantities of lyrium the Red Templars had left behind, “Just don't touch it.”

Hawke nudged Varric with an elbow, “I was there the first time this crap showed up, you don't need to tell me twice.”

“I wasn't playing with it, I barely touched it,” Cullen said, sheathing his sword, “It's brittle, decaying.”

Varric shrugged, “I'm no expert, Curly. But lyrium belongs underground, without the Red Templars to maintain it...”

“Not why we're here, but good to know.” Cullen felt a stab of satisfaction as he turned away from the lyrium. Despite why they were here, it still felt good to see the Red Templars' legacy crumble.

Quiet fell over the group as they followed the steps down from the entrance hall and began to move further into the shrine. The silence they were intruding upon was almost a physical thing that followed them, making them paranoid and jumpy at the slightest provocation. A few times Cullen found himself looking back over his shoulder, and he wasn't the only one. Even with the high ceilings and the grey light filtering through the large windows, the quiet felt oppressive, their footsteps loud of the solid floor.

They were all feeling it, none more so than Cole.

Cole was skirting the edge of the room, sticking close to the walls. Cullen wondered if Cole was picking up on the pain and anguish of the Red Templars that had once resided in the shrine. Cullen shuddered as he wondered, not for the first time, just how close he'd come to being one of them; a slave to the red crystal. His mind and body twisted unnaturally into a monster that slaughtered innocent people and followed Corypheus with barely a thought of what they were doing.

He slammed his mind closed on that avenue of thought, now was not the time. He focused on their surroundings instead. Aside from the lack of noise and movement, it looked exactly the same. Or, it was, until they reached the final room. They halted for a few seconds in the doorway; a new camp had been set up, dozens upon dozens of tents and bedrolls littered the floor.

“Am I mistaken, or are these new?” Dorian asked,

Cullen took a few steps into the campsite and lifted the tent flap on the nearest tent to glance inside, “They weren't here the last time, that's for sure.”

The others followed his lead; walking slowly into the large hall and fanning out to look around.

“Maybe not,” Blackwall muttered, “Doesn't mean they were set up by our guys, could've been bandits.”

Cullen hated to admit it, but Blackwall was right. There was nothing they'd found so far to point directly at The Believers. Though if these tents were set up by bandits then where were they now?

“Over here!” Bull called from the other side of the hall. Cullen picked his way through the campsite as quickly as he could without destroying all the tents in the process.

Bull had his giant axe in his hands when Cullen reached him, he used it to point at the surrounding tents, “We didn't do this,” The tents that surrounded the qunari were tattered and torn. Most had collapsed and a few had scorch marks on the fabric. The nearest stone pillar had chips missing and it was scarred from being struck by a blade, “Look down.” Bull said softly.

One or two of the flags under their feet were stained by blood. Cullen felt his stomach turn over, a cold chill made its way down his spine.

“Still doesn't prove it was them,” Blackwall insisted, “We don't know The Inquisitor was ever here.”

Cullen tugged one of his gloves off with his teeth and hunkered down on his haunches. He pushed a few of the camping implements aside until he reached a patch of stone that had been scorched until it was black. They'd seen no other evidence of fires inside, even the torches on the walls looked as though they hadn't been lit in months. If Cullen had to guess, he'd say that The Believers knew they'd be watching from the outside, anyone they'd posted as lookouts would see the flickering of flame through the windows and would investigate, so The Believers had done without. Besides, no cooking fire had ever burned hot enough to scar stone this badly. No, the only explanation for these marking were that they had been burned on here by magic.

Cullen placed his bare palm on the scorch mark and, sure enough, could feel the unmistakeable warming tingle of Ellana's magic. It was faint, but most certainly hers. Relief flooded him in a wave, he felt his shoulders lower and the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips. They didn't have her back yet, but at least they knew they were in the right place. The familiar warm energy that he would forever associate with her made its way up his arm, lifting the blonde hair under his armour. It was almost like seeing her. Hope surged up to meet the relief; they were going to find her.

“We know now,” he said. It took actual effort for him to remove his hand and put his glove back on. The sensation vanished and Cullen immediately missed it, “That was caused by her magic.”

Dorian gave him a look that was part impressed, part surprised, “How can you tell?”

 _Because I've felt her magic on my skin enough times to know it,_ he thought,

“I just do,” he said aloud, and clambered back to his feet, “It's not fresh, a few days old at least.”

“Escape attempt, you think?” Varric asked,

“An _unsuccessful_ escape attempt,” Cullen amended, “If she'd escaped then we'd have found bodies,” he looked around at the tents again, “A lot of bodies. Alexius said the Deep Roads entrance would be hidden, Samson didn't even know it was here. We need to -”

A crash and the scrape of stone on stone made them all jump, Cullen's hand was halfway through drawing his sword before he registered that it was Bull that had made the noise. The heavy looking stone alter that stood at the top of the room was off its plinth and was on its side on the floor,

“Found it,” Bull called with a wave,

Cullen shook his head, “How in the Makers name...”

“We're in a shrine,” Bull shrugged, “Where else was it gonna be?”

Hidden under the alter was a trap door, a ladder filled the narrow gap, stretching away into the darkness below. Dorian nudged a small stone off the edge with his foot, it took a surprisingly long amount of time before they heard it hit the ground.

The mage met Cullen's eyes with a raised brow, “After you.”

 

“Let's find another way out when we're done, yeah?” Sera said once she joined Cullen and the others at the bottom of the ladder, “Don't wanna climb back up that stupid ladder.”

“You think you've got it bad?” Bull grumbled, “I'll be trying to get the scuffs outta my horns for weeks.”

“Shush,” Cullen hissed, frowning at them, “Are you trying to get us caught before we even get started?”

“Yeah, but... my horns.”

“All about the horn with you, isn't it chief?” Krem said, completely ignoring Cullen and grinning at Bull, while Dorian and Sera snickered behind him.

Cullen rolled his eyes, “How does Ellana put up with this?”

The hallway they'd found themselves in was utterly unremarkable, especially considering where they were and the grandeur of the hall above them. It was certainly old, but seemed well maintained. The walls and floor were carved straight from the stone, ages of wear had worn them smooth. Fire burned from the torches mounted to the walls, throwing their shadows into hard relief.

Cullen trailed his fingers on the wall and traced what seemed to be a rune carved into the rock. It didn't match any of the symbols he'd seen during his time in the Circle, he had no idea what they meant. He glanced at Varric with a raised brow,

Varric shrugged, “You're asking the wrong dwarf, Curly,” he muttered, his shoulders were hunched as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hand lingering near his crossbow. It was rare that Bianca was ever out of Varric's reach, but he looked ready to draw his weapon at the slightest provocation. Cullen grasped his shoulder as he passed, giving it a quick companionable squeeze, and was rewarded with a short nod of understanding.

With the others trailing noisily behind him, Cullen took the first few steps down the hallway. The walls on either side of them were bare, barring the occasional light source or carved rune. There were no doors, no openings, until they reached the staircase at the end of the corridor.

“Alright,” Cullen whispered, he turned to face them to give them instructions but found them already looking at him, quiet for once, and his brows furrowed down in confusion,

 _They're waiting for you to tell them what to do._ Ellana's voice said in his head.

 _Maker, they want some inspirational..._ Even in his own head he couldn't finish the thought,

 _Inspirational bullshit?_ The Ellana voice that lived in his mind sounded as though it was smiling, _Yes, that's exactly what they want. The Inquisition runs on inspirational bullshit, remember?_

Ellana would say something about holding the line. She'd tell them to be safe, watch each other's backs, and if all else failed...

_Let the crazy mage handle it._

Cullen cleared his throat; inspiration — bullshit or otherwise — seemed to be beyond him at the moment, “Alright, we're going to split up and clear this place, floor-by-floor,” he really only had one order, he met their eyes one by one, “If it moves and it's not Ellana, kill it.”

 


	31. I never wanted this.

The atmosphere in their small group had been tentatively hopeful when they'd split up; the confidence born of many hard-fought, hard-won battles they'd been through together. They'd beaten back a God, finding their Inquisitor now seemed an easy task when compared to their history.

Cullen wasn't quite as optimistic, his stomach was hollow and his mouth dry. A part of him was just waiting for the next thing to go wrong, but he'd clenched his jaw, accepted Bull's slap to the shoulder that had sent him stumbling, fumbled his way through Varric's complicated high-five — the others were well practised and accomplished it with ease — then, after an agreement to meet in the hall above when they were done, he'd set off in search of the lowest floor with Hawke and Dorian in tow.

The temperature began to drop as they started their descent down the long spiral staircase. The steps down were treacherous without a guardrail, steep and slippery with grooves in the stone from ages of wear. Every so often Cullen heard the sounds of battle above his head, the others were putting up a fight though he couldn't make out any details, and the noise only became less defined with every step down.

Finally, they found themselves on the lowest floor, a long dimly lit corridor stretched out ahead of them. Slowly they made their way forward, the word “dungeon” shouted at Cullen from inside his head, _they'd kept her in a dungeon._ He tightened the grip he had on his sword and managed to stop himself from saying the words aloud. There was no mistaking it for what it was, but Hawke and Dorian stayed quiet too, for which Cullen was grateful.

The hall was lined with old wooden doors. The wood had started to rot in the cold and damp, making Cullen wrinkle his nose. It wasn't until they got halfway along the corridor that they saw a brand-new door.

Hope and fear flooded him in equal measure, erasing his caution and making him forget they were supposed to be quiet, he took the last few steps at a run. The door opened easily under his hand and Cullen burst through, half expecting to find Ellana sitting there waiting for them. He could almost see her face, her smile, could almost hear the smart-ass remark she'd make about how long it had taken them to find her.

The cell was empty.

Disappointment hollowed his chest for a moment, until he saw the first dash of red. There was a small pool of it on the floor, more splattered on a wall. Blood.

Cullen's stomach rolled and pitched, his gut tightened as he tried to unsee it. He took a few steps closer to the splatter on the wall, several strands of silver blonde hair were trapped there, stuck in the blood as it had first turned tacky then dried completely.

Anger rushed in to replace the disappointment.

He reached out with slightly shaky fingers to gently pull the strands from the dried blood. Somewhere behind him he could hear Dorian swearing softly in Tevene, but Cullen wasn't really listening. Something was niggling at him. Even through the anger, there was some instinct in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong here. Something _besides_ the blood of the woman he loved splashed over a Maker forsaken dungeon.

He forced his gaze away from the blood, making himself look beyond it. The cell was as unremarkable as the hallway, plain stone walls and floor, same as everywhere else. A thick but otherwise standard wooden door and — _wait._ That was it,

“The door,” he muttered aloud,

“What about it?” Dorian asked, his voice small in the cell,

“It's wood.”

Dorian glanced at the door over his shoulder before looking back at Cullen, one eyebrow raised, “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“I _meant_ it's wood, would a wooden door hold Ellana?”

Dorian turned to look at the door again, his voice losing its mocking tone as it became thoughtful, “Now that you mention it...”

“Her fire spells would have that door down in seconds.”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” Hawke called from where she waited for them in the hall, “Come look at this.”

Cullen took one last look around the cell before following Dorian back out into the hall. Hawke pushed the cell door closed and brought one of the torches closer. Her face was set, her jaw clenched in a sharp frown. She lifted the torch higher, and the light bounced off the small red chips and splinters that were buried in the wood of the door. More were stuck in the stone wall near the door's hinges. Cullen had been in such a hurry to get into the cell that he hadn't even noticed,

“Red sodding lyrium,” Hawke spat. She met Cullen's eyes, he could see his own anger reflected there, and he knew she'd come to the same conclusion he had.

“Am I missing something?” Dorian asked, “Why would there be red lyrium down here? And why would it stop Ell from blasting down the door? She's awfully gifted at carnage, after all.”

“Look at how they're stuck in the wood,” Cullen said. His voice was flat and emotionless, in sharp contrast to the confusing mix of emotions that were churning inside him. There was only one way those chips of red lyrium could have ended up in the door and in that pattern. Only one thing that could have stopped Ellana from burning that door into kindling, “Look at how they're dispersed, how they start at shoulder height. How they've snapped off something else and been left behind.”

“Snapped off what?”

“A Red Templar,” he said, “A Red Templar was out here suppressing her magic.”

Cullen thought he'd been angry before, but that was nothing compared to the new white-hot rage that burned inside him now. It made his hands shake, he could feel it pulsing in the centre of his forehead.

They hadn't even given her a chance to fight back.

Templar abilities were supposed to be used to protect people, mages as well as everyone else. They weren't created for — for — _this_. For torture.

Guilt, irrational but present, thrummed along with the rage.

 _They're not you,_ Ellana's voice said softly in his head, _They're not you. That you were a Templar never frightened me. Not all mages are abominations, not all Templars are tyrants._

Wordlessly he turned from the door and back toward the stairs.

_Maker, I need to hit something._

As though The Maker had heeded his prayer, Cullen heard the sound of armoured footsteps on the spiral staircase.

The tight twist worked in their favour, funnelling The Believers into single file as they entered the corridor.

Cullen didn't wait for the first man to be off the steps before he charged at him with a cry of anger. Hawke hadn't even had time to draw her daggers when Cullen collided with The Believer. By the time Dorian had cast a hasty barrier over them the man was lying dead at Cullen's feet and he was on to the next.

The strange sensation of Dorian's magic, so unlike Ellana's, only infuriated Cullen further as the next enemy stepped in front of him.

It passed in a blur. A haze of enemies, one falling and the next taking his or her place. One long blur of all the fear and anger Cullen had been feeling since South Reach. It all came to a head, all came pouring out of him, in a stream of flashing steel and armour.

He was somewhat aware of Dorian and Hawke over his shoulder; the Champion of Kirkwall next to the second greatest mage that Cullen had ever met, yet they were holding back. Poised, ready to fight if they needed to, but by some unspoken agreement they were letting him get it out of his system. They blurred at the edge of his vision, they became far away and unimportant.

One more enemy down, on to the next.

 _She'd be incensed if she was here._ The thought flashed briefly in his mind. She'd almost made him sit out the mission when they'd last visited this shrine: she'd thought him emotionally compromised.

_If Ellana saw you now, she'd strike you down herself._

_But she can't see me now because these bastards locked her in a blighted dungeon and drained her magic._

A new flash of anger fuelled his sword arm, he was far beyond emotionally compromised, and he didn't care. His next swing almost cleaved a Believer in two. The rogue's daggers clattered to the ground as he tried in vain to catch the cascade of intestines that flopped from the new opening in his belly. The fool didn't even realise he was dead yet.

Cullen barely noticed, he'd already moved on.

Like on the roof of Skyhold, Cullen ran out of targets before he ran out of anger.

He was panting heavily, blood and gore dripped from his blade when the flow of enemies abated.

He didn't bother to sheath his sword. Stepping over the mess of bodies — and body parts — on the ground, he stepped back onto the stairs,

“So... are we just not going to talk about what just happened?” Dorian asked, sounding more than a little horrified,

“Nope, nope we are not,” Hawke answered in Cullen's place, she even patted him on the shoulder as she joined him on the staircase, “A squeamish Tevinter magister? I've fucking seen it all now.”

Dorian's sigh was long-suffering, but he gingerly walked around the corpses to fall into step behind them, “I am _not_ a magister.”

 

For quite some time, the three of them explored abandoned room after abandoned room, all in various states of dilapidation. They saw hide nor hair of anyone, let alone Ellana or the magister leader. Cullen hadn't seen the magisters face, he hadn't been in a fit state to, but he was positive he'd recognise his voice when he heard it. He had, after all, played those last few moments over in his head often enough,

Everything had gone quiet over their heads too. Even the sporadic sounds of fighting had ceased. It seemed the others had finished clearing out their floors. They must not have found her, they'd have sent someone down to tell him if they had.

 _And if she's not here?_ Asked a small voice of doubt,

_She's here. The marks of her magic upstairs prove -_

_All that proves is that she was here a few days ago, that doesn't mean she's still -_

Cullen cut the thought off dead. He refused to think about it. If she wasn't here then they were back to square one. Back to blind stabs in the dark and pouring over maps for Deep Roads entrances. She had to be here.

He was so lost in thought that he'd stepped past the door by several steps before he registered what he'd seen through the door's small barred window.

His foot hung, almost comically, in the air before he lowered it and retraced his steps. He didn't bother to look in the window again, instead swining the door open. It wasn't locked and opened with the faint squeal of rusty hinges.

At least a dozen Believer bodies were laid out in two neat rows.

“Venhedis,” Dorian breathed from over his shoulder. Cullen's gaze darted from one body to the next, looking for a flash of silver hair and sharp pointed ears. He checked each row twice before he'd convinced himself that she wasn't lying amongst the dead, and he allowed himself to breathe. That was when the smell hit him.

The stench of rot and decomposition slapped him in the face. It was so strong that Cullen staggered back a few steps. Dorian moved around him, a scrap of fabric already in place over his nose and mouth. The mage hunkered down next to the nearest body,

“What the hell are you doing, Tevinter?” Hawke barked,

“I'm a necromancer,” Dorian reminded her as he examined the body, “The living disturbs me far more than the dead.” Using the back of a knife Dorian turned over the corpses hand, carefully examining the black, mottled markings from where the blood had pooled after death, “They've been dead a few days, three or four maybe. It's difficult to tell down here, it's so bloody cold, but certainly no longer than a week.”

“So about as old as the evidence of Ellana's escape attempt we found upstairs?”

“She killed them all herself?” Hawke whistled, sounding impressed, “Some of them don't even look as though they died from magic.”

“She probably has a certain ex-Templar to thank for that,” Dorian said, he clambered back to his feet and dusted his hands off on his knees, “From what The Believers did, I'm only surprised she didn't carve her initials into their foreheads.”

“Give me time,” Cullen said. He took one last look around the rows of bodies, unable to deny the little swell of pride he felt.

 _That's my girl._ He knew she wouldn't have gone down without a fight.

_Just hang on, love. We're almost there._

 

Cullen knew the next floor was different the moment they reached it. Unlike the others, this hall was well lit; torches burned merrily in ornate holders. Even though they were still old, the wooden doors had been treated and were well maintained, the stench of rotting wood had vanished.

Warily, with weapons at the ready, he stepped from the staircase. The ceiling was higher here, reaching almost twice as high as in the last corridor. The doorways were larger too, the doors carved with delicate inlays. There were no small, barred windows here. A few of the doors were standing open, some revealed barracks with small but comfortable looking bunks. One a library. The library was larger than four of the cells put together. Huge bookshelves filled the walls, every inch of space was taken up by books or rolls of ancient looking parchment. There was no rot here, no decay, everything looked perfectly, painstakingly, preserved.

Dorian glanced around, a brief flash of interest crossed his face, but it was gone so fast that Cullen couldn't even be sure he'd seen it. Under normal circumstances Dorian would love to spend time here, pouring over the thick archaic tomes, but these were not ordinary circumstances, and he left the room without even glancing back.

The hairs on the back of Cullen's neck started to lift as the crept along the hall, his senses heightened, every small sound was louder, his palms damp inside his gloves. They were close, he could feel it. By the time they found a short flight of steps at the end of the hall he could practically smell it; a strange sensation in his nose and trickling down to the back of his tongue. It sang to something in his blood, something muted and half-forgotten, but there nonetheless.

They took the short flight of steps at a jog.

This was it. It had to be. It was the only set of stairs they'd found that wasn't part of the central spiral. If Ellana and The Believer's leader were anywhere in this shrine, then it was here.

An odd combination of mineral and metal filled Cullen's mouth, it was a taste he was familiar with, but couldn't place. Something he'd tasted over a year ago.

_It's... Makers breath. It's..._

“Maferath's hairy arse!” Hawke yelped, “They're -”

“Red Templars!” Cullen shouted, he cursed himself, he should have known, he could taste them — _the lyrium, Maker, I'm tasting lyrium! —_ the Red Templars screeched at them; unholy sounds that should never be made by anything even remotely human.

“But they -” Hawke's face was devoid of colour, her voice shrill. Cullen had never heard her sound like that, he didn't think she _could_ sound like that,

“Kill now, freak out later!” Dorian called, he threw a barrier spell over the three of them as Cullen charged.

_Knights go down first. Then horrors and shadows. He remembered their Red Templar tactics._

“Don't let them touch you!” he shouted. There was one knight, along with several horrors and shadows, all in the later stages of corruption. Red lyrium feeding on their blood, taking over their organs.

Cullen's lip curled in disgust as he charged straight at the knight. Hawke, despite her fear, was hot on his heels.

He slammed shield first into the knight, the damn thing didn't even budge. It bulged with muscle, veins thick with lyrium stood out from its shoulders and arms, tatters of an old Templar uniform still hung from it. It caught Cullen's shield in its shovel-sized hands. Its fingers curled over the top, red lyrium protruded from its knuckles, ending less than an inch from Cullen's face. The knight hollered a cry, the stench of its putrid breath filled Cullen's nose, flecks of its spit hit his cheeks.

“Hold on!” Hawke shouted. She vanished from his side, reappearing a few heartbeats later behind the knight, she jumped, plunging both her daggers into its neck. The pressure on Cullen's shield disappeared as it reeled backwards, its huge arms swung around trying to catch Hawke as she hung inches from the ground by the handles of her daggers.

Cullen brought his sword down hard. The Red Templar's arm was almost severed, it hung loose and useless at its side. It bellowed again, twisting violently and throwing Hawke from its back. It reached for Cullen with its one functioning arm, but he ducked underneath, pushing its arm over its head with his shield, exposing the knight's vulnerable side. Cullen pushed his sword into a gap in the knight's armour. He gave his sword a violent twist, then, with a grunt of effort, dragged it through the Red Templar's stomach. Bright red blood with an unnatural crystalline shine, spilled to the ground.

“Little help here!” Dorian yelled, Cullen whipped around to see the mage having to dodge the red crystals being launched at him by one of the horrors,

“Help him!” Hawke said as she yanked her daggers from the dead knight,

“Just don't -”

“Let them touch me, yeah I got it.”

She leapt toward the shadows, Cullen took the horrors.

Horrors looked as though they'd never been human. They resembled beasts. More lyrium than person, huge spines of the stuff protruded from the creature's back, with elongated claw-like fingers, sharp as knives.

Dorian froze the first one just as Cullen reached it, the red crystals took on a hint of frost as Cullen swept his blade across its back. It roared in anger, reaching for him with a slash of its claws, they scraped the front of his shield with a screech. It tried to fire shards of lyrium at him with its other hand, Cullen had to throw himself to the ground to avoid them. He brought the flat of his blade around, catching the horror's legs and sending it to the stone floor, Dorian finished the monstrosity off with a spell.

“There's a door at the other end of the hall!” Dorian shouted as Cullen climbed to his feet, only to have to duck under an attack from a Red Templar shadow. With an arm that was nothing more than a sharp spike of crimson, it hacked and slashed at the air over Cullen's head, so close that Cullen could feel his hair move,

“A door?” Cullen called back. He crushed the red shard with his shield, it crunched and splintered with the force of his attack, before he turned with a cry and slashed at the exposed neck of the shadow with the sharp edge of his blade, “That's where they're holding her. That's why the Templars are here.”

“Go!” Hawke screamed, “We can handle this.”

“Speak for yourself!” Dorian yelled back. The mage had his work cut out for him trying to keep both of them covered while defending himself and attacking the Red Templars.

_Everyone comes home in one piece. We don't leave people behind._

Cullen swallowed, _Maker, I hope I don't regret this,_ “I'm not leaving you behind, keep pushing!”

An ice-mine appeared on the floor and Cullen shoved the nearest Red Templar horror onto it, it froze to the spot, becoming white and unable to move. Cullen lunged at it, thrusting his sword in front of him and the horror shattered.

The floor was becoming slippery with blood. Shards and splinters of red lyrium rolled under Cullen's boots, shattering into dust when he stepped on them.

The taste of mineral and metal lingered still in the back of his mouth, teasing the small part of him that he sometimes feared would crave lyrium forever. It wasn't as strong as it once was, easily ignored now when at one time it had almost consumed him with its need.

A shadow appeared out of nowhere, before Cullen could react Hawke had swept its legs out from under it, it fell forward and Cullen forced his sword through the back of its neck.

Hawke was nimble on the battlefield, though not particularly graceful. There was no theatre to the way she fought, just brutal, clean efficiency. The black and red pattern to her Champion armour made her tricky to see with the air already taking a crimson hue due to the red lyrium, but with the speed she possessed Cullen doubted he had to worry about catching her with his blade.

He caught the next horror unaware, he slammed it between the hard stone wall and his shield, crushing its chest and dispatching it when it fell to the floor in a heap.

The fight took longer than it would have done if Ellana had been there; Cullen was so used to fighting with her at his side that now it was like fighting with a part of him missing, a sense or a limb.

Eventually, the last Red Templar fell. Cullen's head throbbed in time with his panted breath. He swung his shield back into its harness on his back to free his hand up to swipe at the sweat on the back of his neck. The heat thrown off the corrupted lyrium had made the hall unbelievably hot. He'd started to _finally_ turn to the last door when a loud noise made him jump; the harsh sound of pounding flesh. He whirled around, weapon ready to continue the fight, only to see Hawke kicking at a dead Red Templar,

“Hawke?” she ignored him and kept kicking, putting her entire body into each hit, swinging from the hips, “Hawke?”

“What?” she snarled, letting her leg stop as she turned angrily to face him,

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I'm fucking alright! What do I look like to you?” she sneered, a crease between her brows. She held her twin daggers tight in her fists, but Cullen could see the small tremor in her hands, “Do I look like a — a...”

A sudden rush of pity for the aggressive rogue blossomed in his chest, he'd forgotten that she hadn't really faced off against Red Templars before. The first time he'd seen one... he repressed a shudder at the memory. Even after Meredith, he hadn't been prepared.

He was pretty sure he knew how Hawke was feeling, he waited her out, an eyebrow raised, and the anger drained from her face like water, leaving her looking pale, sad and horrified.

“It's alright, Hawke,” he said gently,

“I -” she swallowed hard and glanced around at the bodies scattered on the floor, “I didn't agree with the Templars. I never have. I've spent most of my life hating them. But this? I never — fuck, Cullen, I never wanted this.”

“I know.”

“Let's just find The Inquisitor, get the hell out of her and burn the damn place to the ground.”

Cullen nodded, that was definitely a plan he could fully support.

 

With Hawke and Dorian right behind him, Cullen grabbed the handle for the final door at last. He felt as though they'd been searching this shrine for days; one long hallway revealing fresh nightmares and enemies at every turn. Finally, they were there. Yet still, he hesitated.

In a moment of quiet that lasted less than a second, Cullen had a flash of perfect clarity. His heart pounded hard in his ears, droplets of sweat ran down the back of his neck, he could almost feel each individual hair on his arms raise. The door before them bore an ornate carving of an archdemon, the detail was impeccable. Cullen could see every grain in the wood, every knot, perfectly. In that tiny, infinitesimal moment, there was an urge to freeze time. An almost overwhelming urge that he would never admit to himself later, to just never push that door open, if it never opened then he could never be too late.

_Maker, don't let me be too late._

He took a deep, steadying breath, and pushed.

The room was damn near luxurious compared to every other they'd had to fight through to reach it. High backed leather chairs surrounded small coffee tables, a bookcase lined one wall with books backed in coloured hides, artwork adorned other walls. A large fireplace with lavishly carved stonework half-filled one wall, a fire burned cheerfully at its centre.

A slim elf with dirty silver hair stood completely still, backlit in front of the flames.

Bloodstains splattered the filthy rags she wore, tattoos of brightly coloured flowers could be seen through the holes.

Despair washed up from Cullen's stomach to his chest, clutching painfully at his heart. All the oxygen seemed to leave the room, making his head spin. His legs turned to lead, bile burned the back of his throat. It took a few hard beats of his heart for his head to catch up with his body.

_She. Stood. Completely. Still._

Ellana had never stood completely still. Never.

Every drop of blood in his body rushed to his head, his heart hammered in his ears, pulsing in his forehead and behind his eyes. His sword dropped uselessly from his numb fingers. The lead left his legs, taking his strength with it, he reached out a hand to grab the back of the nearest chair.

They were too late.

She turned empty — so blue they were almost violet — eyes toward him, “Hello, Cullen.”

Cullen didn't think he could move, he could barely breathe, speaking was an impossibility. He heard Hawke gasp from somewhere behind him, felt Dorian knock into him as he rushed over to the fireplace.

It all seemed very far away. As though he was watching it happen from above. As though he was watching it happen to someone else.

Dorian brushed Ellana's hair out of her face — _that same old stubborn lock of silver hair that never knew how to behave itself —_ and tilted her chin up into the light to reveal the angry looking red sunburst branded into her forehead.

“Oh, Ell. My darling girl, I'm so sorry.” Dorian whispered, his voice shaky, before drawing her into a hug.

Cullen watched as her arms hung listlessly at her sides, not even a finger twitched in response.

The gentle sound of weeping filled the silence, and it took a few seconds for the realisation that the sound wasn't coming from Dorian to filter through the numbness that seemed to have taken over Cullen's entire mind. Glancing into the corner, he noticed for the first time that Ellana hadn't been alone in the room. A man in venatori robes sat huddled on the floor. He was sobbing, rocking back and forth in misery. A branding iron was still in his hands.

Fury like Cullen had never known filled him, driving the numbness out. The leather chair went flying as he roared in anger. He grabbed the sword that lay at his feet and crossed the floor in a few large strides. Within seconds the magister was pinned to the wall, his feet dangled off the floor. The magister didn't even object as Cullen's hand tightened around his throat. The branding iron fell from his loose fingers to bounce off the stone floor,

“It didn't work,” the magister said between sobs, he barely seemed to realise he was hanging by his throat, didn't even know that it was Cullen he was speaking to. His eyes rolled madly in their sockets, “Nothing worked. The mark. Corypheus. The Black City. We were supposed to see The Black City. We were promised.”

“Why?” Cullen ground out between his clenched teeth,

“The mark. The mark, it should have been his. But it is no more. It's gone.”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder, he avoided looking at Ellana's face, he didn't want to see the brand — _the brand, the tranquil solution, I thought it might be a mercy, I thought —_ and instead looked for the anchor; that bright spark of green that she'd somehow turned into a symbol of peace and hope.

There was nothing. The anchor was gone.

Just hands that weren't flitting about, not twisting or fiddling. Not tapping out a nervous rhythm or tugging at the loose threads on her leathers. And most certainly not playing with the coin that hung around her neck. They were just still.

A knife of agony twisted in his chest, sharp and searing, and he looked away. He turned his gaze back to the magister, better to be angry.

He pulled the mage away from the wall and slammed him back into it again, the man's head bounced from the stone.

“Nothing matters,” the magister blubbered, “She wouldn't use it, she wouldn't bring him back. Now it's gone, the elder one will be so angry with me. It's gone. I'll never see The Black City.”

Cullen felt his hand tighten on the mage's throat, cutting off his words and sobs. Tears and snot ran down his face and onto Cullen's glove.

Cullen half expected Ellana's small hand to appear on his arm, half thought she'd tug him gently away, turning him from his anger as she had a dozen, a hundred, times before. But she wouldn't. She wouldn't ever again. The knife in his chest twisted again, he squeezed harder before letting go. The lifeless body of the magister fell at his feet.

He panted harshly as he looked down at the body, only regretting that he could only kill the man once.

His hands clenched and released at his sides.

_What do we do now?_

He couldn't even begin to form an answer to that question.

When he looked around at the others Dorian's eyes skipped away from him, but he wasn't fast enough to clear the expression of concern from his face. He saw no concern on Hawke's face, her expression seemed to say she'd have done the exact same thing.

Cullen took a few unsteady steps back to them. His legs were weak and barely able to support him, his strength had died with the magister.

With shaking fingers he pulled the heavy fur mantle from his shoulders and gently placed it over Ellana's, carefully keeping his gaze a few inches over her head.

Silently he led the three of them from the room and toward the surface.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.  
> So, we've reached the end of act 2! We're getting there.  
> As always, feedback, concrit and comments are gratefully received.  
> Thanks for reading.


	32. It's not the same.

Cullen lay in his tent and stared unseeingly up at the canvas over his head. The dying embers of the campfire threw ghostly shapes and shadows across the fabric, but he barely noticed.

He was only staring at it in the first place because it was better than staring at the alternative.

He wasn't sure which he hated more; the way some of his friends would look at him in sympathy, or the way some of them seemed determined not to look at him at all.

Half of them constantly seemed to be on the verge of saying some platitude they thought would be comforting but would, in fact, be meaningless. They meant well - he _knew_ they meant well - that didn't make it any more palatable. He didn't want their sympathy, their pity, he didn't want to hear the words 'it could be worse' or 'it's darkest before the dawn' and Maker help him if someone so much as mutters the phrase 'everything happens for a reason'.

The other half said nothing at all. At least not to him. Their gazes leapt away every time Cullen so much as turned his head in their direction. He moved through that half of their camp like a ghost.

Both of these options were preferable to looking at Ellana. He found that if he looked over her shoulder or at her hair, then it wasn't too bad. Looking her in the face, however... well, Cullen supposed he'd have to wait and see how he'd feel about it once he actually managed to do it. At the moment it seemed an impossible task, he couldn't bring himself to look at the angry lyrium burn on her forehead or, worse, those empty violet eyes.

Yes, looking at the canvas was the better of his options.

He moved his hands from where they lay next to him and folded them on his chest, interlocking his fingers, as he continued his examination of the fabric over his head. A faint frown creased his brow, but otherwise his face was still and impassive.

_Dazed, Cole would say — then because of Cole being Cole — disoriented, devastated, drifting down the drain._

Cullen mentally shook himself, _Did I just think that? Why am I thinking about that? Maker, I'm losing my mind._

The prospect didn't bring any stress, it was nothing more than another thought that passed through his brain. Acknowledged, then dismissed.

_Deranged, demented, delirious -_

_Stop that._

He was aware that _ **IT**_ hadn't sunk in yet. It was odd that when he thought of it, the 'it' was in bold, thick black ink. ' _ **IT**_.' The events at the Shrine of Dumat summed up in one two-letter word. _**IT**_.But _**IT**_ hadn't, not really. He kept expecting to be hit with a wave of rage, or to be enveloped in sorrow. Neither of these things had happened yet. It would almost be a relief if it did.

He envied the tears he'd seen Dorian shed. Was jealous of the way Dorian had been able to vent his grief, more so of the way Bull comforted him.

Cullen doubted he'd have a well deep enough, even if tears _had_ come to him.

He missed the rage he'd felt as he'd wrung the life from the magister. Anger was pointless, but it was better than this.

As it stood, all he felt was a deep hollow of nothingness. It echoed in his chest and up to his throat, making it ache.

He'd thought that writing his report to Leliana and Josephine might have broken the spell, but it hadn't. He'd written mechanically, his hand moving across the paper of its own volition, with Leliana's parting words ringing in his ears,

“Good hunting, Commander.” She'd said, the same good-luck message he'd heard her give to Ellana countless times, the only difference was the titles and the fact that she'd added, “Bring our Inquisitor home.” at the end.

He'd sent them a brief and to-the-point summary, along with his instructions for Skyhold to be carried out in his absence. Seeing the words in print had done nothing to make _**IT**_ seem any more real. He'd felt as though someone else had been writing the report, channelling the words through his hand while he watched from somewhere above it; disconnected and far away.

Skyhold was creeping closer with every step they took. Cullen hadn't yet decided if he was dreading reaching it, or looking forward to it.

On the one hand, reaching home meant he could lock himself away in his office; he could work.

_Work the workaday tasks. Testing the stress. Strive and strain to slip from self-_

_Stop that._

On the other hand? Would it ever feel like home again?

He rolled onto his side and thought about the other letter he'd written.

The other letter he'd sent with a different bird. _That_ letter hadn't been meant for Skyhold. _That_ letter he'd written in private and sent in secret. _That_ letter had been much more difficult to write and, unlike the one meant for Leliana, that one warranted a reply.

 _And if it's not the answer you want?_ A voice wondered in the back of his mind, it sent a cold chill, like icy fingers, down his spine to settle in the small of his back.

_It will be._

_But what if -_

_It will be._

_How can you be so sure?_

_Because now is not the time to lose hope._ It was Ellana's voice in his head that answered, echoing the same words he'd said to her when she'd despaired over Corypheus' corruption of the Grey Wardens.

Cullen was not particularly surprised to learn that this nugget of wisdom was a lot harder to accept than it was to say.

_Accept, admit acknowledgement of well-wished wisdom -_

_I said stop that!_

The birds were fast, much faster than their group on the road. He had no doubt that Leliana and Josephine would have plenty of time to turn his orders into action before their return. He also knew he wouldn't receive a reply to his second letter while they were on the road. They needed to return to Skyhold quickly.

The knowing, and the logic, did little to quell the dread.

He was mid-way through rolling onto his back again when movement in the shadows caught his eye. Someone was moving around the campfire.

His mind on thoughts of surviving Believer members, Cullen pulled a dagger from under his pillow and slipped silently from his bedroll to the opening of his tent.

As quietly as he was able he skirted around the tents. He couldn't hear the usual loud snoring from the tent Bull and Dorian shared, he guessed he wasn't the only one not getting much sleep tonight.

The campsite was eerily quiet as he crept toward the fire.

 

He almost turned back to his tent when he saw that the person by the fire was Ellana, she was looking through some of their belongings that were strewn around on the grass.

He had no idea what to say to her.

Whenever he so much as looked at her the empty hollow feeling in his chest increased a hundredfold. It stole his breath and closed his throat. Even if he had been able to think up something to say, he couldn't have got the words past the obstruction.

He wasn't able to make his escape before Ellana looked up at him.

Before this, before _**IT**_ , Ellana would have teased him mercilessly for jumping at shadows. She'd have found the idea of him creeping up on her with a dagger hilarious.

 _Come on, Ellana._ He found himself silently begging, _Make a joke, laugh about how much noise I was making while trying to startle a thief, something about me waking half of Thedas. Anything._

Maker, at this point he'd take fear. _That_ would at least be something.

Instead, the vaguely polite expression she turned on him twisted his gut enough to make him wince. It was as though _his_ Ellana wasn't in there at all.

_Astray, absent, away elsewhere._

“You should be resting,” he said when the silence dragged on, he was surprised to hear how gruff his voice sounded from not being used,

“I was looking for a poultice,” her voice didn't sound like hers either, it was almost hypnotic in its flatness.

“You're injured?”

“Yes.”

She provided no further information, and he didn't ask. The way she spoke sent unpleasant shivers up and down his spine. He'd heard the tranquil speak a thousand times before, but never had the empty, emotionless speech affected him in such a way.

Instead of asking, he looked her slowly up and down, being careful to keep his gaze on 'safe' areas, far away from her face. Her completely motionless hands caught his eye, she was holding her right hand in a way that looked unnatural. With a nod of his head, he wordlessly indicated that she should take a seat on the grass by the dying fire.

He tossed another log onto the embers before sitting down next to her. As gently as he could he pulled her glove off, and hissed at what he found underneath,

“Maker...” he heard himself mutter under his breath. Her hand was almost entirely purple with bruising, her fingers swollen close to double their normal size. The leather of her glove was as soft as satin through so much use, and yet he could see imprints in her skin from the fold of the fabric and the stitching. All her fingernails were cracked and broken, the one on her smallest finger was missing entirely, “I'll get Dorian.” he said, half rising from his seat,

“There is no need. The bones have knit,” she said, “The magister healed the injury as far as magic allows. The magister was very skilled with healing magic. He could damage the hand, heal the bones, then do it again.”

With the detached way she spoke, they could very well have been discussing the weather instead of the ways she had been tortured. Cullen's stomach churned, the small hairs on his arms started to rise, and he fought the urge to shudder. All the while she wore that polite smile that was so unlike any smile Ellana had ever worn.

Cullen could kill the magister a hundred times, and he still didn't think he'd consider the scales balanced.

His jaw ached with grinding his teeth together, so silently he rummaged in his discarded pack for a poultice.

He found a small jar buried at the bottom. The thick salve used royal elfroot as its base and, as such, had a sweet earthy scent that Cullen could smell even over the smoke from the fire.

Taking Ellana's hand carefully in his own he worked the balm into her skin as gently as his thick, calloused fingers would allow. The small bones in her hand felt incredibly thin, almost bird-like, under his.

He hadn't noticed how small she was, had she always been this small? She was delicate in a way he hadn't seen before this — _brittle as glass, easily broken bones bending to breaking point, they snap with a stain, a spasm, shouting stop —_ perhaps her magic or the boundless energy she possessed had somehow made up for her lack of physical stature.

“Anywhere else?”

She pulled the leather coat and tugged the collar of her tunic down to reveal dark purple bruising around her throat. Cullen tried hard not to think about how similar those bruises looked to handprints as he moved to sit behind her and silently applied the poultice. She had rinsed the blood from her hair in the running water of a nearby stream when they'd made camp, yet parts of the silver were stained a washed-out red.

It was marginally easier when he was behind her. Even the angle she held her neck at was different from how it had been before, but at least he didn't have to look into those empty eyes or see the polite smile,

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, after a few seconds of quiet, “We should have arrived sooner. Maybe we could have...” his voice trailed off, there was a mountain-sized list of things they could, or should, have done.

“If there was any distress, I don't remember it.”

“But that isn't how tranquillity works. You shouldn't have any memory loss.”

“I should clarify: I am able to recall facts, events. I know, for example, that you and I are in a relationship. I cannot, however, recall or recreate how it felt.”

For several long moments Cullen wasn't able to respond, the hollow chasm of his chest wouldn't let him. The sounds of the night seemed louder as he waited for his voice to return and the ache to leave his throat. He could hear the snicker of the horses, the crack and snap of the wood on the fire. Somewhere nearby insects were making their nightly hum.

It took him several attempts before Cullen was able to articulate an answer,

“Probably for the best,” his voice was barely over a murmur, “It would be too painful to remember emotions you can't feel.”

“I wouldn't know.”

“No,” he sighed, “I don't suppose you would.”

They sat in silence while Cullen finished attending to her neck.

There were several injuries that required use of the poultice, Cullen didn't make the suggestion of calling Dorian again. He wanted, or needed, to treat the wounds himself. An odd sort of penance, but he owed her that at the very least.

Every new injury Cullen came across was like a physical blow, it sent a knife of guilt into his stomach. The guilt-knife seemed to have killed the panic-rat. The rat hadn't gnawed at him since they'd arrived at the Shrine of Dumat, maybe it couldn't survive the numbness.

Finally, they came to the last injury; her ribs. Ellana started to remove her tunic to allow him to treat the wound when Cullen's hand shot out and caught her wrist. He winced again at how narrow her wrist was, his hand was able to wrap around it with room to spare, so delicate. He placed her hand back into her lap and wordlessly moved the tunic himself. Carefully Cullen lifted and folded the fabric in a way that allowed him to see the injury, but kept as much of her covered as was possible.

_You've seen her body a hundred times, you've been sharing a bed for -_

_It's not the same._

He _knew_ it wasn't the same. He couldn't explain, even to himself, why it would feel wrong, he just knew it would.

This politely smiling person sitting in front of him wasn't the same one that had shared his bed. She wasn't the same woman that had made him laugh, that had taught him to trust magic, that had loved him.

He scrubbed the hand that wasn't covered in elfroot down his face.

This might be the same body, but it wasn't her. Not really. It was a shell. There was nothing even resembling Ellana left. She was gone.

Something in his chest twisted painfully. His heart thudded slow and heavy, he could feel it throbbing in his throat.

As it had been with her hand, the skin over her ribs was mottled with bruising but the bones were not broken, or at least were no longer broken. Riding would be uncomfortable, they would need to go slow, but he thought that she would heal within a few days, a week at most.

At last, they were finished and Cullen lowered the tunic back into place.

“Thank you,” she said, emotionless and flat. Cullen didn't answer, he merely nodded, having to avoid looking in her eyes now that he didn't have an injury to focus on and busied his hands by returning the poultice to his pack. Because of this, he didn't notice the way Ellana had turned her head until she leant in closer to him. It took a full two beats of Cullen's heart for him to realise what she was expecting of him,

“No,” his voice sounded strangled as he jumped back. The sound of his pulse was loud in his ears, his throat thick. She'd been expecting him to kiss her — _Maker — Andraste preserve me — what —_ “Please, please don't do that,” he shook his head a little at the absurdity, his fingers were shaking slightly. How could he even begin to explain this? He forced himself to look at her face. There was no indication to say she'd been hurt by his rejection, no confusion. _She's expecting me to kiss her because that's what I would have done before,_ he realised, it was habit, “You — you have no desires,” he tried to explain, keeping his voice low, “You can't want anything, least of all me. Please, I beg you not to do that again.”

“I do not and can not object -”

“Lack of objection is not the same as wanting,” he didn't quite snap at her, but it was close. He brushed a hand over his hair to the back of his neck, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _How_ did he explain this? He wasn't used to having to explain himself to her, Ellana had always had a way of understanding him. But this wasn't Ellana, “Lack of objection isn't the same as wanting.” He said again, softer this time, “Things aren't the same as they once were, they can't be. I'll look after you, I'll protect you with my last breath.” He forced his gaze to the brand on her forehead before brushing it gently with the pad of his thumb, “But while you have this, anything else would be wrong.”

“I understand.”

He nodded and let his hand fall away, “Then go and rest. We have a long day of travelling tomorrow.”

She left him by the fire and vanished silently among the tents.

Cullen wasn't eager to return to looking at the canvas: He threw another log onto the fire. His guilt-knife kept him company until, many hours later, the sun started to rise.


	33. He entered Skyhold.

Though the distance remained the same, the return trip to Skyhold took longer than their trip out. But finally, they could see Skyhold silhouetted against the darkening sky. Cullen had timed their arrival carefully, taking pains to ensure they arrived at dusk. Hopefully, the darkening sky would give them the lowest chance of being seen on their approach. After going to all the trouble of having Josephine clear out the nobles — and if Cullen knew anything about the nobility, then it probably had been an awful lot of trouble — the last thing they needed was to be spotted by some eagle-eyed resident of Haven.

The locals had become accustomed to seeing Ellana atop her battle nug, not the small forder she was riding now, but her silvery blonde hair was very distinctive, Cullen saw no reason to press their luck by inviting trouble.

Yet he still took the extra precaution of leaving the others outside the walls and riding through the gates alone. The loud rattle of the portcullis echoed around him as he waited alone outside the vestibule. He took the few seconds of alone time to prepare himself; he shifted in the saddle, the creak of the leather barely audible over the sounds of the chains, coming home was harder than he thought it would be.

Leliana and Josephine were waiting for him just inside the gate, half hidden in the shadows. Leliana's long hooded cape blew around her on the breeze, making them both look spectral, it did not help to ease his trepidation at facing them. He took a deep breath as he swung from the saddle, no eager stable hand rushed forward to take the reins this time, the courtyard was deserted, in fact. His horse was forgotten as it made its own slow way toward the stables. No rowdy voices drifted down from the tavern, the wind was the only sound that accompanied his footsteps as he approached the other advisors,

“Cullen, where -” Josephine started,

“Outside,” he said, his voice was more like a bark, he winced a little at his own brusque tone but was unable to change it, “You did as I asked? The nobles are gone?”

“Yes,” Josephine answered, her chin jerking up at his tone, “As are most of the guards and soldiers, only the ones most loyal to The Inquisitor remain. But -” her gaze lifted over his shoulder to peer into the shadows of the gatehouse,

“Good. This -” he ran a hand through his hair, leaving it dishevelled and standing on end before rubbing the back of his neck, “This _situation,_ for lack of a better word, cannot be allowed to spread outside these walls.”

“I agree,” Leliana nodded, “Until we know what to say to the people, how to spin the information, then it's better that we keep this a secret.”

_How to spin the information? How to_ _**spin** _ _it?!_

Cullen had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from screaming the words into Leliana's face, his jaw was beginning to ache with how often he was being forced to grind his teeth. Somehow he managed a curt nod, immeasurably less satisfying, but probably the wisest course of action.

Josephine had given up on trying to see the others and turned her gaze on him instead. Cullen very quickly discovered that he preferred Leliana's cool, collected response to what he saw written very clearly on Josephine's face. She clutched her ever-present clipboard tighter to her chest, the knuckles of her hands turned white as she gripped it. Pity seemed to ooze from her every pore, un-shed tears filled her dark eyes when they met his, her chin just beginning to twitch and waver.

Cullen looked away first, his throat working to swallow his own emotions. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ambassador's hand reach out as though she were about to touch him. The idea of her comforting him was too much, did she not realise he was barely holding on as it was? Didn't she understand that he was caught somewhere between wanting to lash out, to deal just a fraction of the pain he was feeling on someone — anyone — else, and howling until his voice left him?

_Mourning. I'm mourning her, and she's not even dead._

He swallowed again and leant back, pretending not to notice Josephine's attempt to comfort him. He avoided her hand on his arm by signalling the lone, long-standing and reliable guard on the door to wave the others through,

“The Believers are dead,” he said, “Their leader included. There is no longer a need to keep our soldiers and agents in the field, but I'm going to request that we do so anyway. The fewer people in Skyhold the better. We can say that their current positions are a way of maintaining peace. But spread the word that The Believers have been defeated, I do not wish to instil fear in people for the purpose of keeping our secret.”

“I'll take care of it,” Leliana nodded,

“Thank you.”

He turned, not wanting to watch the others enter Skyhold, and really, _really_ , not wanting to see Leliana and Josephine greet Ellana.

It had been bad enough when Cullen's team had met up with the others at The Shrine of Dumat. When Cullen had first pushed open the trap door that led back into the main hall, he could hear the sounds of Bull and Krem bragging about the most inventive ways they had taken out some of The Believer's soldiers, Varric interjecting and embellishing as they went. A cheer had gone up when he'd pushed the hatch open all the way, but once he and the others clambered through they were met with silence, complete and utter silence. There were some silences that begged to be filled, silences born of anticipation, of suspense and excitement. This wasn't one of them. This was a silence that stretched out into an eternity. It was heavy, pregnant with shock, an anguish that was almost palatable. It was a force in and of itself, solid and unyielding.

If Cullen had been asked before that moment if their friends, their adopted family, were capable of silence, then he'd have bet his last sovereign that the answer would have been no. It was a bet he'd have lost.

Cullen hadn't met any of their eyes, he wasn't sure what he'd dreaded seeing more; pity and grief, or anger and resentment. They should be resentful, they should be furious that he hadn't got them there sooner, that he'd failed in his most important, most crucial role; to keep her safe.

Ellana had taken a few steps toward Sera, Sera had flung herself twice that distance backwards, almost falling over her own feet in her haste to get away, holding her bow in front of her like a shield. Another thing Cullen would have bet on and lost; he'd never thought that Sera could look afraid, could look down-right terrified. But that was what he'd seen. Sera; the elf that hated magic, that despised and mistrusted anyone that abused it (and most that didn't), and she'd been terrified of a woman torn from the fade. What Cullen suspected had hurt Sera most of all was the polite, never changing, expression on Ellana's face. That Ellana could see her friend be so afraid and not react, not attempt to comfort and protect her. To just continue to smile that empty, benign smile that was so unlike any smile that Ellana had ever worn. Every time she turned it in his direction it felt like the pommel of a sword was being driven into Cullen's stomach.

Sera's movement seemed to break the spell, though still no one spoke. They did glance at each other, shocked expressions mirrored on each of them. Weapons were put away or forgotten, hanging listlessly at their owner's sides. Krem had found Ellana's belongings, her long leather coat was hanging over Krem's arm. He and Blackwall moved in unison, as though they'd choreographed it, moving forward to step between Ellana and Sera. Bull took a few steps toward a very pale Dorian and pulled the mage into a hug. Dazed and bleary, Cullen saw how tightly Dorian clung to Bull, his fingers leaving indents in the large qunari's shoulders.

Varric came to stand beside Cullen, Cullen braced himself for whatever the dwarf had to say, but Varric didn't speak, didn't try to touch him, or offer comfort or some witty remark with sad undertones. He just stood next to him, sturdy and dependable. Cullen found himself immeasurably grateful.

The silence held as he turned on his heel and led them back through the shrine.

It was cowardly, perhaps, not to want to witness Leliana's and Josephine's grief as well. This should be his punishment, his penance for not arriving in time. For failing at the role he'd given himself.

Cowardly? Perhaps.

Necessary? Definitely.

He'd only taken one step before Josephine couldn't contain it any longer,

“Cullen?” he paused, but didn't turn around, “Are you alright?”

“No,” he muttered, and with round shoulders and a lowered head, he entered Skyhold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week, sorry! Next week will be longer, promise!


	34. Something different.

The hangings over the bed looked different, Ellana decided. It was low on the very long list of things that were now “different”, but it made the list nonetheless. She could remember once thinking the canopy warm, crimson and rich. They were an indulgence. A ridiculous accessory for an elf that had spent most of her life sleeping under stars instead of fabric. It was a symbol of wealth and prosperity — or, at least, it used to be — that had been witness to love, laughter, stories and, once, been set on fire by her now absent magic. Now, however, when she lay in bed and looked at the canopy, all she saw was maroon velvet with scarlet brocade; just fabric, that's all it was. She had spent numerous hours since her return to Skyhold looking at that fabric over her bed, vaguely pondering if some missing part of her would mourn the loss of meaning to such a meaningless object.

The same could be said for many of the items in her possession; trinkets and baubles with no practical use. Ellana knew that these objects did, at one time, hold an emotional value of a varying degree. She could remember what the emotions were, but in a factual way. As though it were something to be checked off a list. The white stone halla sat on a shelf over her desk? That had been a gift from Varric. She could perfectly remember him handing it to her when they'd left the Winter Palace. It had been heavy in her hands, the delicately carved horns had ridges when she ran her fingers across the stone. He'd winked and told her that no one in the palace would notice the loss of one of the blighted things, they'd found them in all sorts of strange places during the ball after all. The gift had made her laugh, made her happy. Emotional check on the list. What the happiness itself had felt like? No, that she couldn't remember. The feeling itself seemed to be hidden from her. Much like the veil separating the fade from the waking world, she was separated from what was by some block she couldn't name.

The inability to enter the fade when she slept rubbed against the waking world in a way that she wouldn't have thought possible. The dreams she could remember from before seemed, in a way, more real than her present state. Her new, different, existence was more dream-like than her dreams ever had been. She moved around Skyhold as she had once moved around the fade; with a constant deep knowing that something was wrong, was different, with no ability to bridge the gap.

So she looked, she saw and studied, noted the differences. She'd be useful in her new capacity if possible.

Contemplating the canopy over her bed was certainly not the most productive use of her time, but there was little else to do in the hours that preceded dawn. Ellana had discovered she required much less sleep since she had become tranquil, she was awake before dawn on most mornings. On her first morning back at Skyhold, she had been awake long before the sun had crested the horizon. Without instructions on how to spend her time, she had been at a loss on what to do, so she had wandered out onto the walls for a walk. The few guards and servants she had encountered had seemed disturbed to see her. She had called them by name and pulled her mouth into a smile to put them at ease, but that only appeared to make matters worse. She was less of a threat now than she had been before losing her magic, but, unless she was very much mistaken, they had been afraid of her. She didn't understand it, they had never been afraid of her before. “Different”. Not wishing to startle anyone else, she now remained in her room until the sun rose.

She had intended to discuss the matter with Cullen, with him being an ex-Templar, he had seemed the best person to advise her on why she needed so little sleep. That had been a problem. Though she saw him frequently, the Commander had taken great care not to speak to her unless it was strictly necessary. He could often be seen watching her from a quiet corner or leant against a wall, but didn't engage her in conversation, and would leave the vicinity if she approached him. It was a “different” thing. When he had no option but to address her, he spoke to her hair, or her shoulder, rarely her face, and had yet to meet her eyes once since their return to Skyhold. Ellana had opted to keep her distance. The conversation they'd had on their trip back from the Shrine of Dumat seemed to have caused him pain, and there was nothing to be gained by inflicting any more upon him.

She had, instead, taken the matter to Dagna. According to Dagna, her new — different — status as an early riser was caused by her removal from the fade. Dreaming and being in the fade required more energy to sustain than the sea of black she saw when she slept now. True, she could no longer draw demons to her in the fade, but maybe the same part of her that might miss the meaning of the canopy, also missed the dreams. She didn't know, but maybe.

Once the sun had risen enough to pour its new light through the windows, she decided it was safe to rise and prepare for the day. The scattered colours of the stained-glass painted the floor, but Ellana barely spared them a glance as she crossed the room to retrieve her clothes from the dresser. The coloured glass had been chosen with great care; an intricate design of deep shades of green. When the sunlight poured through it, green was scattered across the dark wood floor. Before things had become different, it had always put her in mind of her clan. The green and brown, so similar to the forests they'd travelled through. Now it was only coloured glass. There was no small moment of nostalgia when she stepped across it, no fond remembrance of her old life. It was just coloured glass.

 

The Great Hall was — _different —_ quiet when Ellana emerged downstairs with her surgeons smock folded neatly over one arm. Varric's pen was loud as it scratched away on a piece of parchment. The dwarf's head was bent low over the paper when Ellana approached his corner by the fire, Cole was keeping him company; sat crossed-legged on the centre of the table.

Varric looked up at the sound of her steps and greeted her with a smile, “Your Inquisitorialness,” he said, with a small half-bow in his seat. Cole looked up, his gaze travelling over Ellana's shoulder as though he couldn't see her. Varric cleared his throat, “Going to say hello to our illustrious leader, Kid?”

“But I don't -” Cole started, looking confused,

“Come on, Kid. We talked about this, remember?” Varric said, his voice was cajoling with a slight tinge of weariness, “Don't reach out, just look.”

Cole frowned as he concentrated, and a few seconds later his gaze met hers, “I see you,” he said, “But not you. It's -”

“So, you off to the infirmary?” Varric asked loudly, speaking over Cole,

“Yes. I believe we're making progress.”

This was an understatement, Varric knew. He'd been in the Herald's Rest with Bull the previous evening when Stitches, The Bull's Chargers' healer, had arrived. Stitches had been put in charge of supervising Ellana's work in the infirmary, and he'd only had positive things to say about her. Healing was an unusual line of work for a tranquil, but the focus that tranquillity leant her was beyond that of normal men. She could treat people without feeling their pain or suffering. It meant that her bedside manner was atrocious, but Stitches was convinced that with a few months of study they'd start to make great strides in non-magical healing. Enlea might have made a terrible healer in the field, but tranquil Ellana might be teaching the Chantry healers a thing or two in a few years. Stitches had said those words to Bull, Varric had half expected the qunari to launch the man over the bar. The look Bull had given Stitches had been enough to send him stammering into an apology. None of them liked to think that Ellana might remain tranquil for years.

“Well,” Varric said, getting to his feet and throwing some weights down on his papers so they wouldn't be caught in a draft, “I could do with some fresh air, it would be an honour to escort you across the courtyard.”

This was unnecessary, and Ellana acknowledged the fact that this was something new, something to do with her tranquillity, something different. Though it was Cullen that Ellana saw watching over her most often, a member of The Inquisition's inner-circle seemed to be watching her at all times, with the exception of her quarters and the clinic. While she didn't, or couldn't, object to their company, she was aware that she was likely becoming a burden to them. No one had offered an explanation for this new behaviour, but she was becoming used to it and nodded in acceptance of Varric's offer,

“Maybe I'll stop by the tavern and -” The sound of a door closing at the back of the hall interrupted whatever Varric was planning to do at the tavern. Sera and Dagna emerged from the Undercroft and began to walk toward the door.

Ellana saw the small misstep Sera made when she realised Ellana was at Varric's table. Sera seemed to almost wince before turning the expression into a scowl. Dagna beamed a wide smile at Ellana and stopped at the table to talk, Sera's scowl only deepened. The elf's gaze remained on the doors, it seemed she would have been quite content to pretend Ellana wasn't there at all,

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Dagna said, the chirpy dwarf as happy as ever, “Are you sleeping any better?”

“I am sleeping well, Dagna, thank you for asking. Good morning, Sera.”

Sera rolled her eyes and blew between her lips. Dagna elbowed her in the thigh, “Good morning, _not-_ Inquisitor,” Sera muttered petulantly, much to the shock of Dagna, who immediately turned red in the face,

“Sera!” she exclaimed,

Sera rolled her eyes again, “What? It's not like I can hurt her feelings, is it?”

“That's really not the point.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sera said, then without another word she walked through the large doors and down the stairs, without once looking at Ellana,

“I'm so sorry, Inquisitor,” Dagna said, pink still colouring her cheeks,

Ellana pulled her mouth into a smile to try to reassure her, “That's alright, Dagna. I do not require an explanation.”

“No, but you deserve one,” Dagna sighed deeply, her shoulders drooping as she watched Sera walk away, “She doesn't mean it, she's just...” her voice trailed away, and she looked at Varric beseechingly,

“We know,” Varric nodded and waved an arm toward the door, “You better go after her before she causes trouble at the tavern.”

Dagna smiled at Ellana again before vanishing outside and hurrying in Sera's wake.

Ellana watched her leave, “Sera and Dagna have been arguing,” she said, remembering the argument she had interrupted the previous evening when she'd gone to the Undercroft to speak to Dagna. Dagna had started to show her how to craft runes from lyrium, the work wasn't as interesting as the clinic but Ellana had been interested to see what it was like to work with lyrium. Cullen had always described it as having a song, he'd been able to hear it, but when she worked with lyrium she heard nothing. It didn't cause her any disappointment or sadness — she was incapable of feeling such things — but it was something to note, something different, “I don't think Sera likes how much time I have been spending in Dagna's company.”

“It's not that,” Varric said, throwing a frown in the direction of the tavern, “Buttercup is just pissed, that's all, it's not your fault.”

“That's what Dagna said.”

“And Dagna is right.”

“I seem to be causing an awful lot of trouble,” Ellana said, thinking of the servants and guards she had frightened, Cullen's new silence, her bodyguards made up of The Inquisition's inner-circle. So many different things. “Perhaps it would be easier if I wasn't here.”

“No, it wouldn't.” Varric said firmly, “Skyhold is where you belong.”

“Commander Cullen does not share your sentiments. I do not think that Cullen has looked at me properly once since my return, though I'm not sure if I understand why.”

“Yeah, well,” Varric scuffed the toes of his boots on the ground and tapped his fingers on the ledger beneath his hand, “I won't pretend to be an expert, but he's pissed too. You'll have to ask Curly if you want to know exactly why, maybe it'll do him some good.”

 

It was dark by the time Ellana left the infirmary for the day. She was tired from the work, yet the satisfaction she would have felt from a day of hard work was absent. She didn't mourn the loss — she wasn't capable of mourning the loss — it was just another thing to add to her growing list of different things. Her hand ached, and she rubbed the fingers of her other hand against her palm. The ache was similar to the pain of the anchor, but when she looked down there was no spark of green, her hand looked as though the anchor had never been there. This ache was caused by spending a large portion of the day writing; Stitches had instructed her to take notes, he meant to send them to a university in Orlais if they made any discoveries. It was far too early in her medical education for that, but Ellana did not object.

Many of her healing techniques came from the healers in her clan, the Dalish used many of the same healing roots as humans did, but they were often used in different ways. Ellana had once seen their healer bring back one of their hunters from the brink of death when he'd swallowed too much water after falling into a river. The healer had breathed for the hunter and massaged his chest until the hunter had spat out the water and opened his eyes. Ellana hadn't been aware that this wasn't common knowledge among the humans. She remembered the conversation she'd had with Cullen when she'd invited him to visit her clan with her, could remember that she had wanted the humans and Dalish to work together, to blend the two worlds she loved. That desire no longer remained, but maybe her old self would have approved of her bringing Dalish healing to The Inquisition. Hopefully, the careful notes she was taking would be of use to someone. Her new skills would likely cause fear and suspicion outside the large, protective walls of Skyhold, but here she was encouraged to learn how best to help people in her new capacity.

Through all of this, one of the few things that remained from her life before was the need to help people. The only explanation she could fathom was that her drive to help others was based in instinct rather than emotion, and so that drive remained. It was tribal, a survival instinct to remain useful to the group. It was possible, but there was no way of knowing for sure. There was, unfortunately, few people in Skyhold that could answer her questions. One, in particular, that would be very knowledgable, refused to speak to her.

As she stood in the darkened courtyard, rubbing the writers cramp from her hand, her gaze passed across the Commander's tower. Faint candlelight flickered in the window.

 

Cullen was trying to occupy his mind with troop placements across The Western Approach. Once The Grey Wardens had built up their numbers and re-established themselves in the region, then The Inquisition would be able to withdraw. Until then, however, The Inquisition troops were busy dealing with the darkspawn that still crawled their way out of the Abyssal Rift.

In truth, he was just looking for a way to distract himself for a few hours. If he ran one more “what-if” scenario in his head, then he was pretty sure he might actually lose his mind. So far all he'd managed to forget was his coffee, which sat cold and abandoned by his elbow.

The second letter he'd sent after they'd left The Shrine of Dumat was still unanswered. With every passing day without word he felt the small flicker of hope fade. He'd been hoping for a speedy response, but Cassandra was a busy woman.

_If she didn't_ — Cullen shook his head once he realised his thoughts had strayed again. He forced the image of the letter from his mind and looked back at the paper in front of him; Griffon Wing Keep needed more supplies for the large number of men stationed there. They needed iron and some light cloth to combat the arid climate. The camps had an abundance of supplies, some could be shipped to the keep. It wouldn't take long to have the items relocated.

_It'll take longer to move those items than it should have taken for my letter to arrive, what if —_ No. Not thinking about it.

He had a list of the locations of their camps somewhere, he started to rummage in the pile of papers when he heard a knock at the door,

“Enter,” he called, barely bothering to glance up. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing, but it wasn't until he had the required paper in his hand that he looked up to address his visitor and saw that it was Ellana waiting silently on the other side of his desk. He half rose from his chair, the paper falling from his lax grip. It took him a few moments to comprehend why he was so surprised, then it occurred to him that Ellana had never waited for his permission to enter his office before. She used to knock back in the beginning, but only before sauntering in before his summons, usually bearing food or drink from the kitchens. He would object at her interruptions while secretly being happy to see her, she would ignore his objections, throw herself into a chair and regale him with the latest news of her adventures.

Suddenly Cullen became aware that he'd been staring at her for several seconds, and he shook his head to clear the memories away, “Yes -” he found he couldn't quite get her name out, it stuck in his throat, so he skipped over it entirely, “Is there something you need?”

“Varric told me I should come speak with you,” she said, her voice empty of inflection,

“Of course he did,” Cullen sighed, he pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back into his chair. That damn dwarf can't not interfere, “Was there a specific topic that Varric thought we ought to discuss?”

“I asked him why you haven't looked at me since I returned to Skyhold. He said it was because you were angry. He said I should ask you myself if I wanted to know why, he also said my asking would do you good.”

“I -” Cullen forced himself to look at her standing before his desk, her hands still and clasped around each other, a polite expression on her face.

_How can she look the same and so utterly different at the same time?_ He wondered.

“Why don't you take a seat?” he offered after a few moments. The way she sank into the vacant chair stung him; her back straight and hands folded on the desk, not in the relaxed sprawl he was so used to seeing, “Yes, Varric is correct. I am angry, among other things.”

It pained him that he had to explain to her how he felt, the person that knew him better than anyone ever had, understood him in ways he didn't even understand himself. And he had to tell her that he was angry? That he was furious that it had been taken away from him? His hands fisted on the desk,

“Are you angry because of me?”

“Yes.”

“Have I done something to offend you?”

“What — Makers breath, no,” he blurted, “Of course not. I'm not angry _with_ you, I'm angry because of what was done to you,” he took a deep breath, his voice started to soften as he spoke quietly and deliberately, “I'm angry about a lot of things, and none of them are your fault. Do you understand?”

Ellana nodded, but didn't comment, she also made no move to leave his office. The sudden silence that followed stretched from seconds to minutes, becoming ever more awkward. Cullen was at a loss as to how to fill it, he didn't know how to be around this new version of Ellana. He had to fight the urge to drum his fingers on the desk, to mimic the fidgeting that Ellana had always done before. He thought about asking how her work in the clinic was progressing, or how her injuries were healing, but dismissed each idea in turn. Small talk was never his forte.

To give himself something to do, he started to shuffle the papers on his desk into some sort of order, perhaps if he hinted toward work she might leave. She didn't; he could feel her gaze on his hands, making his fingers feel clumsy and slow. He glanced up to see her watching him, and he gave up the pretence with a sigh, dropping the papers and flattening his hands on his desk. Almost desperately he searched his mind for something to say, his office was beginning to feel increasingly warm, he rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. Finally, his mind landed on a topic, something he probably should have discussed with her earlier,

_Hard to discuss anything when I'm avoiding talking to her unless it's necessary,_ he thought with a wince,

“There's a — there may be — Cassandra, the book of -” he could feel a blush start to rise up his neck, _this is ridiculous,_ he cleared his throat and tried again, “If there was a way to cure you, to return you to how you were before, would you like –“ Cullen winced and his word choice and rephrased, “Would you prefer that?”

“Yes.”

The abrupt and speedy response took Cullen aback, everything else she'd said had been slow, the words spaced far apart. This answer was given quickly and without hesitation, “Yes?”

“I would be of more use to The Inquisition if I were not tranquil. I suspect it will be difficult, however, I do not know the ritual involved. Also, at present, I feel no distress over what I endured at the Shrine of Dumat, I do not believe that would be the case if I were not tranquil. I would still, however, prefer to return to my previous state.”

Cullen found himself smiling slightly at her answer, and he made himself look her in the face when he responded, “I'm glad. I would prefer that too.”

“I made your life more difficult.”

Cullen huffed a small chuckle, “At times.”

“Then perhaps it would be better for you if things remained as they are now.”

“No, it wouldn't.” he rubbed the back of his neck again, what was it he'd said to Mia about putting his foot in his mouth? “That's not what I meant. You — before all this, you -” he looked her in the eyes properly for the first time and, though it still hurt, the words seemed to just fall out of him, “You were insane. Stubborn, impulsive, and reckless. You left muddy footprints on my office floor, and half finished cups of coffee on my desk. You drove me crazy and I worried about you constantly. And you always, _always_ , had to have your way. Then when you got your way, you were almost always right, that, of course, only made you worse. You were brave and kind, fierce and gentle all at the same time. You made me laugh at a time when I felt I hadn't laughed in years. And I — I loved you more than I thought it possible to love anything. I miss you, you're sitting right there, and I miss you. You asked why I'm angry? _That_ is why I'm angry. I see you every day, and I miss you.”

The words had come fast and without restraint, leaving him out of breath. Ellana's polite expression hadn't changed, and Cullen found he had to look away,

“Would it be for the best if I left Skyhold?” she asked,

“Of course you shouldn't leave,” he answered quietly, “Skyhold is your home.”

“Would _you_ prefer I left?”

Cullen was horrified, disgusted, to find some small treacherous part of him whispered yes, yes a very small part of him would prefer it if she wasn't here, would prefer not having to look at his failing every day and see what had happened to the woman he loved because he hadn't been able to save her,

“No,” he blurted quickly, for just a moment he was worried about what she'd read in his silence, in his hesitation, before he remembered that the old Ellana, the one that seemed to know every thought in his head before it had finished forming, was gone. This new version of Ellana had no such looking glass into his soul, “No, I wouldn't prefer that you left.”

Ellana nodded, and Cullen felt a sudden flush of shame that she had felt the need to ask the question. He'd been so focused on what he'd lost that he had somehow forgotten that she had lost the same things, even if she couldn't feel it. He'd been so caught up in his own pain that he'd lost sight of that.

Leaning forward in his seat, he laid a hand on top of hers, “I'm sorry,” he said, “I haven't been as kind to you as I should have been.”

“You do not need to apologise.”

“Yes, I do. You helped me through one of the lowest points in my life, and I have not returned that kindness. I will try to do better.”

Ellana nodded again, and silence fell between them once more, though it wasn't as painfully awkward as it had been earlier. Perhaps Varric hadn't been wrong when he'd told Ellana that they needed to talk. Cullen was far from being at peace, but some of the quiet that Cole had spoken of seemed to have crept back in, even if only a little. The pain Cullen had been carrying around with him was like a poison, and his outburst about how much he missed her had purged some of it. Maybe some part of Ellana still knew what he needed.

After a few seconds, he heard Ellana's chair scrape along the floor as she rose to her feet.

Cullen blinked at her sudden departure, “You're leaving?”

“I should leave you to your work.”

Cullen rose from his own chair, and Ellana had taken a few steps toward the door before he realised that he didn't want her to leave, “Would you stay?” he asked quickly before he could change his mind.

Her gaze passed over his desk and the mess of paperwork strewn across its surface, “Do you need assistance?”

“No,” he looked down at the mess himself and winced, “Well, yes, in truth. But if you would prefer to stay, then I – erm, I would not object to the company.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I think I've been wallowing in this long enough! Things start to move forward in the next chapter, promise!


	35. A spirit of Faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this is where we're going to really start playing in the grey areas of lore. I've been very careful not to say anything that's incorrect, but I'm definitely taking advantage of grey areas, contradictions and things left open for interpretation in the next few chapters. Feel free to discuss in the comments if you wish. Happy reading!

It was unusually warm in Skyhold, the mid-afternoon sunshine sent dappled shadows through the trees and across the grassy area near the stables. The sweet scent of hay was hanging in the air, carried on the lightest whisper of a breeze. The sun was pleasantly warm on the back of Cullen's neck, his heavy cloak left hanging on the back of his office door. It had been Dorian who had convinced him to leave his office for a change, he'd said something about Cullen looking like a flower with drooping petals before chivvying him out of his chair and sending him outside for a break. Dorian was looking nearly as wilted as Cullen was, in Cullen's opinion, the teasing more than a little forced. But the effort was appreciated, and Cullen had objected only half-heartedly before allowing himself to be evicted from his chair, replacing it with the well by the stables as he watched Ellana groom her mounts.

Cullen wasn't particularly surprised by Dorian's wilted state; much of The Inquisition's spark had vanished along with Ellana's magic and emotions. While he may be slightly more comfortable in her presence than he had been before, it was still painful to see her in her present state. Even while grooming her mounts, she wasn't taking any of her usual joy in the task, brushing them with efficient, methodical strokes. Each of her charges would be perfect by the time she was done, not a hair out of place. Cullen hated it. It felt like he'd waited an age for their stable to look regal and proper, now that it had happened, Cullen found he wanted it back the way it had been before.

He missed the pink ribbon that Ellana used to tie to her bog unicorns horn because she said he looked sad. He missed the glittered threat that she'd once woven through the tail of a forder that Vivienne was fond of so that they'd be colour-coordinated. He even missed the extra sugar lumps she always used to sneak to her damn battle nug, despite its frequent attempts to deprive Cullen of his fingers. Cullen had lost count of how many times he and Josephine had asked her to stop,

“Spreading word of The Inquisition while atop mounts decked out in bows, ribbon and striped with food colouring is undignified,” he'd once told her, she'd only smiled sweetly up at him,

“Blue food colouring works just as well on human hair as it does on horses, vhenan,” she'd stretched up to kiss him on the cheek before whispering in his ear, “And I know where you sleep.”

He wasn't sure what annoyed him more; how much he missed the colourful zoo their stables used to resemble, or the fact that she'd been right, that damn bog unicorn _did_ look sad without his ribbon.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind him shook Cullen out of more pleasant memories — blue food colouring included — footsteps that were so familiar, in fact, that Cullen could greet his friend before she even spoke,

“Most Holy.”

Cassandra snorted her trademark sound of disgust before elbowing him in the ribs and lounging back on the well next to him, “Do not start with the formalities now. I'm beginning to understand how Ellana felt when people started calling her Your Worship.”

Cullen glanced over at her, winning a bet with himself when he noticed that the intricate robes of the Divine were absent. He wondered how long after leaving the capital she'd managed before changing into the comfortable leathers she'd worn while she'd been part of The Inquisition. He doubted it had been long, “You received my letter?”

“I did,” Cassandra nodded, but she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at Ellana, still methodically brushing at the coarse hair of one of the horses, “It was... a shock. I didn't believe it at first.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“This is not how, or why, I wished to return,” she sighed, “But it is right that I am here.”

“Divine or not, you'll always be home with The Inquisition, even in the state it is.”

“We're all fools here,” she said with a small smile,

“Indeed, saving the world through the power of bullshit.”

For a few moments they leant on the well, shoulder to shoulder, watching Ellana work in silence. The absence of things that should have been was almost a palatable thing between them. It hadn't been so long ago that Ellana had thrown herself into Dorian's arms upon his return to Skyhold, and Cassandra had been gone from their keep for an awful lot longer. Cullen was aware of how much Ellana had missed Cassandra before all of this. Cassandra probably would have been uncomfortable with the inevitable hug, but she'd have indulged Ellana. She'd have patted her awkwardly on the back, while rolling her eyes at Cullen over Ellana's shoulder, Cullen was almost certain she'd also have been trying to keep the pleased smile from her face. It certainly would have been preferable to this; Ellana had barely glanced up from her task,

“Where's Mr Tiddles?” Cassandra frowned, waving an arm at Ellana's collection of mounts,

“Maker, not you too,” Cullen groaned, out of all the members of The Inquisition, he'd have thought at least Cassandra would have been on his side on this one, “Why does everyone insist upon calling him that?”

“That's his name, Cullen.”

“You sound just like -” he cut himself off with a wince and cleared his throat, “He's outside the walls grazing. He, um, he wouldn't come when she called him.”

“You cannot be serious?” Cassandra scoffed, Cullen nodded once and crossed his arms tighter over his chest, “But that nug loves Ellana. He once chased away a bear that had wandered too close to our camp whilst we were sleeping.”

“I know. If I so much as glance in its direction then it growls at me, but her? I've seen that damn thing roll over and let her rub its belly like the worlds largest, ugliest dog. But now...” he sighed and shrugged,

“He knows something is amiss. Ellana always said he was smarter than most people.”

“You forget how the impossible follows — _used_ to followed her around.”

“Maker, I need a drink,” Cassandra muttered after a few more seconds of painful silence,

“There's been a lot of that lately. Come to my office, we have things to discuss and I'd rather not be overheard.”

“Will she be alright here on her own?” Cassandra asked, nodding in Ellana's direction,

“You truly think she goes anywhere in this castle without one of us watching over her?” Cullen asked with a raised brow, “Blackwall?” he asked, barely having to raise his voice,

“I'm here,” Blackwall called back as he stepped out of the shadows of the stable, “Nice to see you, Lady Cassandra,” he lifted an arm to wave at her before retrieving a brush and joining Ellana in her grooming.

 

Cullen's office was dark and cool compared to the glorious sunshine outside. The dimmer lighting was soothing on his headaches; they had returned in full force without Ellana to ensure he was eating and sleeping properly, as well as taking his medication. He missed the nimble fingers that always sought out the pressure point in his neck without him needing to ask. Maker, he missed a lot of things.

Cullen took a bottle from the shelf without reading the label. Somebody had been in here and restocked, he noticed, Varric or Dorian more than likely. He made a mental note to thank them before putting the bottle on the desk in front of Cassandra. He'd turned to grab a couple of glasses when he heard the cork hit the table-top and looked to see Cassandra in the opposite chair, head thrown back and drinking straight from the bottle,

“Maker,” she gasped, banging the bottle down on the desk with a cough, “I didn't want to believe it. If I'd heard it from anyone but you, then I probably _wouldn't_ have believed it. How in the Makers name did this happen?”

“I wasn't watching,” Cullen said, easing himself into his chair, “I wasn't careful enough. And -” he shrugged, his shoulders heavy, “And here we stand.”

“But without The Inquisitor — The Inquisition? How are you...” Cassandra splashed some of the amber liquid in a glass and swallowed it in one gulp,

“We've done everything we can think of to ensure the truth doesn't escape these walls,” Cullen said, speaking mechanically, his eyes on his desk, “Josephine managed to get rid of the nobles without creating an incident, although from what I've heard it wasn't easy. We have allowed word to spread in the local areas that she was injured while being held by The Believers, people seem to believe it, and it explains why she hasn't been seen outside Skyhold. Leliana's scouts and my soldiers have been sent to every corner of the map under the guise of assisting the Ferelden and Orlesian armies maintain peace. It has left Skyhold in a less defensible position, but there are less gossipy soldiers around that might let something slip while in their cups. Everyone left here can be trusted to maintain the secret until we find a solution, or — or we don't. _If_ we don't, then we will divulge the information ourselves.”

“You should have sent for me sooner, before The Believers -” Cullen was still looking at his desk, but he heard the wince in Cassandra's voice, “Before they did what they did. I may have been able to help.”

“We considered it, but she thought you'd have your hands full. The Chantry isn't going to rebuild itself.”

“I'll always come if she needs me, or you do. You know that,” she said softly. Cullen could feel the force of her gaze on his face, but he kept his own fixed firmly on his desk, and tried his best to keep his expression as neutral as he could, “How are you, Cullen?”

He didn't answer, what could he possibly say?

“Do you know why I asked you to come?” he asked instead,

“I think I may have guessed, yes.” She sounded as though she was measuring her words carefully, Cullen tried hard not to wonder what that might mean, “Have you told the others what you're planning?”

“They know what you found in the Book of Secrets,” Cullen shrugged again, “You remember how fast gossip travels around Skyhold. But I haven't discussed it with them, and I didn't tell anyone that you were coming. I didn't want to get their hopes up in case...”

“In case it cannot be done,” she finished for him, “Yes, I understand.”

“And can it?” he asked, his gaze finally jumping up from the desk to meet hers, “Can it be done?”

Cullen held his breath as he waited for her to answer. Even if Cassandra _could_ cure Ellana of her tranquillity, that didn't mean she _would_. When Cassandra had left The Inquisition, it had been with the intention of finding those that had been made tranquil unfairly and, if possible, curing them of their condition. He didn't know if this was still something she stood by. That they could cure tranquillity at all was not yet widely known, and he didn't know how large the implications could be for The Chantry if the information became public, it was one of the reasons he'd wanted Skyhold to be as empty as possible; they simply couldn't afford for this information to get out.

Cassandra's eyes skipped away from his as she frowned, “It's complicated, Cullen,”

“I don't care how complicated it is, Cassandra. That is not what I asked; can it be done?”

Cassandra turned back to look at him over his desk, she seemed to be weighing him. He met her eyes unflinchingly.

“I will do what I can.”

_That is not a yes,_ Cullen thought, but managed to grit his teeth against saying the words aloud, _it's not a no, either._

 

***

 

Cassandra glanced across the view of Skyhold from the battlements outside Cullen's office, he always did have one of the better views. She ran a hand over the familiar stonework, breathed in the crisp mountain air, it was like coming home. Back in the door twenty minutes and it was as though she'd never left.

_You'll always be home with The Inquisition._

Cullen had really hit the nail on the head there.

The lack of the familiar sounds and faces was slightly disconcerting. Skyhold hadn't been this empty since their arrival from Haven. She hadn't thought she'd miss the nobles milling around, or the sounds of the traders by the stables, but it was too quiet without them. The training ground seemed oddly lonely without the sounds of soldiers or the ring of steel on steel.

The drink she'd shared with Cullen had done little to ease her concerns, the conversation had done even less. He was handling the responsibilities of The Inquisitor well, as she'd have expected; he was a good choice, she'd have chosen him for the job herself had she been there. He was also handling the situation with Ellana as she'd have expected, which was to say not well. The pallor of his skin, the sudden weight loss and the evidence of too little sleep was similar to how he'd looked when he'd been going through the worst of the lyrium withdrawal. Cullen had survived having his mind broken, he had survived having his body broken, she wasn't sure if he could survive having his heart broken. Cassandra herself was no stranger to heartbreak, she knew how it felt to lose the person you loved most in the world. Unlike her, however, they still had a chance to save Cullen's loved one.

From the moment she had received his letter, she'd known what he would ask of her. But she wasn't sure if Cullen knew himself _exactly_ what he was asking.

Cassandra walked down the steps to the courtyard, missing the familiar sounds. She was tempted to look toward the stables, to see if Ellana was still grooming her mounts, but she resisted. The answer to Cullen's question didn't lie in that direction. She forced her spine straight, set her jaw and turned left instead. Her old training dummies were still set up exactly where she'd left them. She hadn't hit anything since leaving Skyhold, but hitting something sounded pretty good right now.

 

Cassandra wasn't sure how long she'd been swinging her sword — long enough to leave a fine coating of sweat on her brow — when someone cleared their throat behind her,

“Seeker, it's like you haven't moved in a year.”

Cassandra felt a grin pull at the outer corners of her mouth, she might be relieved to hear his voice — happy, if she was being honest with herself — but it certainly wouldn't do to let him know that. She schooled her features into a scowl before turning to face him,

“Varric,” she greeted, “I thought you'd be back to propping up the bar in The Hanged Man by now.”

“Ha, you _hoped_ , you mean.”

“No,” Cassandra sighed and looked out across the too-quiet castle, “No, I — I am glad that you're here.”

“Truly? Well, I'd never have guessed, Seeker. You missed me,” Varric teased,

Cassandra snorted and rolled her eyes, just like old times, “Don't push your luck, dwarf.”

“For what it's worth, the feeling's mutual.” Varric held out his hand, Cassandra blinked at it for a moment before dropping her sword to reach out and shake it.

“You don't seem all that surprised to see me. I thought Cullen hadn't told you that I was arriving?”

“He didn't, but he didn't have to.”

“You have spies in the Grand Cathedral now?” she asked in surprise, she certainly hadn't thought Varric's reach was _that_ far,

“Oh, wouldn't that be something? Imagine the scandals I could write if I did! But no, I was there when you discovered the Book of Secrets, remember? What other options did Curly have but to write you?”

“If you're going to try to talk me into anything, then you should know that Cullen already -”

“Seeker,” Varric interrupted, holding his hands up in surrender, “I'm not gonna try and talk you into anything. You'll do the right thing, it's what you do, if we can count on you for anything then it's to do the right thing.”

“I'm not sure what the right thing is,” Cassandra huffed,

“Sure you do.”

Varric turned from Cassandra to sit on the grass next to the nearby tree, leaning back against its wide trunk, he waved a hand at an old tree stump next to it in invitation. After only a second of hesitation Cassandra followed him,

“You just missed Hawke,” he told her,

“Oh? I didn't realise Hawke was back with The Inquisition,”

“She didn't stick around. I got in touch when The Inquisitor was snatched by The Believers, she came to help. She took off on the night we left the Shrine of Dumat, just vanished from camp in the middle of the night, haven't heard from her since.” Varric glanced up toward Cullen's office and shrugged, “Not that I can blame her, hasn't exactly been a laugh a minute around here lately. I think the whole tranquil thing reminds her too much of Kirkwall, Hawke isn't as tough as she makes out.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Cassandra said thoughtfully, she hadn't spent very much time in Kirkwall, thank the Maker, but she knew the stories of Kirkwall's Circle as well as the others did, “There must have been many of the tranquil in Kirkwall.”

“No, no,” Varric waved his hand, then tilted his head in acknowledgement, “Well, I mean there was, but that's not what I meant. Here's the thing about Hawke, the Hawke you met isn't the same one that I did. When I met Hawke, pretty much straight off the boat, she was...” Varric thought for a moment, his eyes on the sky, before he smiled, “She was sweet.” Cassandra scoffed, making Varric chuckle, “I know, hard to believe, right? But what you need to understand, is that Hawke lost everything in those few short years. Her brother didn't even make it out of Lothering. Then I personally watched as she saw her sister die in the Deep Roads, and then there was that shit with her mother... crap, that one still gives me nightmares. And _then_ there was Blondie.” Varric's lip curled, an uncharacteristic bitter look crossed his face, “When we first met Blondie, he was like a character in a romance novel; all brooding and tragic, feather pauldrons, all that shit. The Blondie we met back then would never have blown up Kirkwall's chantry. Over the course of those years, Hawke had to watch the last person she loved get slowly taken over by Justice. From what I hear, Blondie's got a better handle on it now, a bit more control. But Hawke had to watch the man she loved slowly disappear in front of her eyes, can you blame her for keeping everyone else at a distance by being an ass?”

Cassandra hadn't thought of it like that before, when she'd first heard the tale of the Champion of Kirkwall, all she'd been thinking of was the Conclave. When she'd finally met Hawke, she'd been secretly glad they hadn't found her in time; the aggressive Champion was almost violent in her defence of the mages, it could have only stoked the fires. They'd needed a voice of reason, and the Maker had provided them with Ellana. Cassandra had had her doubts at first, especially when Ellana had recruited the mages as allies, but the Maker had given them exactly what they'd needed.

Cassandra hadn't stopped to wonder why Hawke was the way she was, “No, I don't suppose I can blame her for that.”

“I remember thinking at the time that maybe it would have been easier on her if it had happened all at once, if Blondie had vanished overnight. But...” Varric glanced up at Cullen's office again,

“Now you're not so sure?”

“No, Seeker, now I'm not so sure. If this was a story, then we'd have found The Inquisitor injured but whole, the magister with the branding iron in his hand, and we'd have just stopped him in time, but life isn't a story. We don't always get a happy ending,” Varric paused and looked Cassandra in the eye, “You know, he hasn't said her name once since we found her.”

“He hasn't? Why?”

“I dunno, maybe some part of him thinks it'll make it real.” He reached out to pat Cassandra on the shoulder, “I'm not gonna try to talk you into anything, but if you can't help, if you decide that you can't do it, then don't let him watch her slowly disappear. Tell him quickly.”

 

 

After Cassandra had left his office, Cullen had spent the day buried in his work. Parts of Haven were still being rebuilt, supplies still needed to be arranged, tradesmen and traders still needed to be contacted. As he had when going through lyrium withdrawal, Cullen found solace in the work. An avalanche of paperwork, logistics and numbers to occupy his mind and keep him busy. Their army had grown well beyond the scale any of them had been expecting. The amount of work just to keep them fed was a task that probably would have filled the day of several men. Even with the aid of his hand-picked lieutenants, all of whom were invaluable, Cullen probably had enough work back-logged to keep him at his desk for weeks, which, to be honest, suited him just fine. Whenever his thoughts wandered, he found himself thinking of Cassandra, and wondering if she had made a decision yet.

It was dark when he left his office for the evening, the wind had picked up, bringing the cool temperature of the mountains with it. When Cullen stepped out onto the battlements he found Cassandra waiting for him. Judging by the red that had entered her cheeks, she'd been out here for quite some time.

Cullen shifted the much-smaller-than-usual guard rotation in his hands and steeled himself before approaching her, “Cassandra, have you considered what we talked about earlier?”

“I have given it some thought, yes,” she said with a small, bitter laugh, “In truth, I have thought of little else. But before I agree to anything, there are a few things we ought to discuss.”

“Alright,” Cullen felt some of the unease leave, it still wasn't a no, “Such as?”

“There are very few records of what happens to a mage when the rite of tranquillity is reversed. Only one record holds any real detail, there was a young man, the most recent.”

The stark look in Cassandra's eyes gave Cullen a chill that crept up his spine, “What happened to him?”

“He lost his mind. He lost all control of himself, he could no longer control his emotions or his magic. The others in his group were forced to kill him.”

Cullen swallowed hard, he couldn't imagine Ellana's magic being so out of control. The thought that he might have to... Suddenly the reason for Cassandra's hesitation at reversing the rite became very clear, “I see.”

“I spoke about this with Solas,” she continued, “He described the control mages wield as a muscle, that without magic their control weakens and atrophies. He thought it was directly linked to how long the mage remains tranquil for, that the shorter the time spent tranquil the easier it is to overcome the effects at the reversal, that the damage is less severe.”

Cullen's heart leapt in his chest, Ellana hadn't been tranquil long, the magister had only just performed the rite when they'd found her, there was still time, “Then we shouldn't delay, we should reverse it as soon as possible.”

“I agree.”

“Then you'll do it?”

“I will,”

Cullen's report dropped from his hand as he gripped Cassandra's arms, “Thank you, Cassandra. You have no idea -”

“Cullen, wait,” she held a hand up to stop him, “It is not only my consent that you need. When a Seeker goes through their vigil, they spend a year in preparation, emptying themselves of all emotion and dedicating themselves purely to faith. When that year is over we are briefly made tranquil and a spirit of faith may touch our minds, breaking tranquillity. However, a spirit of faith will only do this if it deems us worthy.”

Cullen turned away from her and ran a hand over his neck, he could barely comprehend that Cassandra, of all people, was saying those words to him, “Excuse — after everything — after -” his hand snatched out to hit the wall of the battlements, “She saved the fucking world, Cassandra!”

Cassandra took a few steps closer and held up her hands in a placating gesture, “Calm yourself, Cullen. _I_ am not saying she's not worthy, nor do I think it. But I am speaking of a spirit of _faith_. Ellana is many things, but devout is not one of them. Her faith wasn't in The Chantry, the Maker, or even in the Dalish Gods, she didn't believe in a higher power, not really, not like you and I do.”

Cassandra was right, Cullen felt a sudden flush of panic, the cure they'd found in the book of secrets was the only way to reverse the rite, but what Cassandra was saying was true. If a spirit of faith didn't find her worthy then...

“She had faith,” he said quietly, “But not like that, it was more...” he paused as he searched for the words,

Cassandra laid a hand on his arm, “She did, but her faith was held in people, in those she loved, in justice and helping others. These are not things that a spirit of faith will deem worthy, regardless of whether or not we agree.”

“So -” Cullen shook off Cassandra's arm, forced his spine straight and steel into his voice, “So you're saying it's not possible?”

“No,” said a new voice, they both turned to see Cole emerge from the shadows, “She's saying a spirit of faith won't work.”

“Cole,” Cassandra smiled, “I've been looking for you.”

Cole shuffled his feet, looking at them sheepishly from under the brim of his hat, “Yes, I know.”

Cullen's gaze flicked between the pair of them, sure he was missing something, “I don't understand.”

“A spirit of faith may find Ellana unworthy,” Cassandra explained, “A different spirit may not.”

Cole took a few steps closer, his leather-clad feet almost silent on the stone flags, “Faith, conviction, hope, belief. They are true. True for her.”

Cullen shook his head, “Not really helping with the not understanding, Cole.”

Cole tilted his head to the side, “She has faith, had. But different. Her faith was in people. Helping the helpless, the hurt. The hapless and the hopeless. Not a God, not a doctrine.”

“So we don't need a spirit of faith,” Cullen said slowly, “We need a spirit that speaks to what she was?”

“I am Compassion,” Cole nodded, “I can help.”

 

 


	36. I hope it helps.

The ball of anxiety that Cullen had been carrying around in his stomach for what felt like eons had — hopefully — reached its peak. It had, if anything, only grown in intensity since Cassandra had agreed to his plan to try and cure Ellana of her tranquillity. Acting quickly was the better of the options available to them, but after so much time spent waiting and now finding the time was upon them had only resulted in catapulting his stress levels to an unprecedented new high. Sleep the night before had been out of the question, Leliana and her sleep potions be damned, he hadn't even tried.

The courtyard outside his office still took him by surprise when he crossed to the main building; it was so eerily quiet without the sounds of soldiers training or their usual crowd of spectators. It was only temporary, he told himself, today was the day he fixed the mistake he'd made in South Reach, then everything would go back to normal. He'd even welcome the return of the nobles.

As Cullen climbed the stone staircase to the large doors of Skyhold's Great Hall, he saw Cole waiting for him. Cole was watching the insects scurry about in the early morning sunlight from where he sat cross-legged on the large stone bannister to the side of the doors. The sound of Cullen's approach made him look up before hurriedly scrambling to his feet. Cole shuffled on the spot, his gaze lingering on the courtyard rather than at Cullen,

“Cole?” Cullen asked, bending a little at the knee to try to look Cole in the face, “Are you ready?”

Cole's feet shuffled again, the soft, worn leather boots scraping gently against the stone, “No. Yes. Maybe.” his head dipped lower than usual, the wide brim of his hat utterly obscuring his face,

“Well, that's very helpful,” Cullen tried, inserting a note of humour into his voice as he thought Ellana would have done.

Cole's long fingers twisted around themselves, “I left the fade. I went to the tower, then I came here,” he said speaking slowly, “I went down, then out. Now I'm me. I didn't want to go back. I'm not fade me any more. I'm Cole.”

“Do you miss it?” Cullen asked, surprising even himself by the question. He had never thought to ask before, now that he had he found he didn't regret it in the slightest, the question was, if anything, more poignant than it would have been at any other time, “Do you miss being what you were before?”

“It was easier to help people. I could make them forget me if I did it wrong. It sticks now, if I do it wrong then I can't change it. It made things easier. But now...” he glanced over the courtyard again, a small bird was hopping along the abandoned railing to the training ring, Cole's sharp eyes watched its progress as he answered, “It matters more now. That's good. I never liked the fade.” Cullen felt a sudden moment of concern, the previous evening had seen the two of them and Cassandra in Cullen's office until the early hours as she explained to them what Cole would have to do. Cullen hadn't understood all of it, but it basically came down to Cole reaching through the fade, then touching Ellana's mind through the veil. Cole had agreed at the time, but had he — “I haven't changed my mind,” Cole smiled,

“Can you still do it? Can you still reach through the veil?”

“Yes.” Cole nodded, his gaze on his feet now,

“But you're afraid?” Cullen asked,

“Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Cole replied softly, but his chin lifted a little, he was smiling under the brim of his large hat, “She was brave for me lots of times. I thought you had to not be afraid. But that's not it. She was afraid too, you have to feel the fear but fight, forge forward. I can be brave for her once.”

“Well, good then,” Cullen said uncertainly, “As long as you're alright.”

“Are _you_ alright?” Cole asked, looking up properly at Cullen for the first time as they started to walk through the abandoned Great Hall and towards The Inquisitor's quarters,

“You _know_ I'm not, Cole,” Cullen said with a soft chuckle, almost everyone had asked that question of him over the last few days, Cole was the only one that didn't need to. It was almost freeing not to have to lie, to pretend to be alright,

“Varric says I should ask, pretend I don't know even when I do. Ask for feelings, not just take. Varric says it's polite.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. She wondered the same thing.”

“Wondered what?”

Cole's voice took on the soft, ethereal lilt it did when he was reading people, “Creators, I hope I help him as much as he helps me.”

“She did.”

“Yes. And so did you.”

“Thank you, Cole.” For the first time since South Reach, Cullen felt something close to peace settle on his shoulders,

“You're welcome.” Cole smiled softly again, “I hope it helps.”

 

Cullen hadn't needed to enter his and Ellana's quarters since the night they'd left for South Reach. He still had spare clothes in his office from the early days of The Inquisition, when he'd spent half his nights never leaving his desk. A bed was still set up in the room above, not that he'd bothered to use it often, not once since their return from the Shrine of Dumat. Partly for the same reason he hadn't returned to their bedroom in the main building; far too many memories. He'd grown accustomed to a staff in the corner, to leather coats flung over the backs of chairs. To damp towels left on the bed, despite the numerous times he'd nagged her about it.

_Makers breath,_ he thought, _I'm missing damp towels. This really needs to work._

Cassandra was already upstairs waiting for them, looking very uncomfortable, and perched on the edge of the sofa. She hopped to her feet when Cullen and Cole rounded the landing. Under normal circumstances, seeing the tough, scarred Seeker looking so out of place would have been amusing. She was holding herself stiffly, her arms jammed close to her sides as though she was concerned they might spontaneously wave themselves around and knock over one of the many delicate looking trinkets that littered the surfaces. Of course, Cassandra wasn't to know that at least half the trinkets were held together by glue from where Cullen or Ellana (almost always Ellana) had sent them tumbling to the carpet, or that the drapes were hung a certain way to hide the singed fabric from where Ellana's magic had gotten away from her and Cullen had been forced to douse them with water. Cullen grinned a little to himself, she still blamed him for the singed drapes, and not without cause.

Almost against his will, Cullen found his gaze drawn to the spot where he and Ellana had last spoken in this room, where she'd knelt before him, held his face and sworn to protect his family at all costs. He swallowed hard; it had cost them both more than they'd expected.

_This really, really, needs to work._

“She's already asleep?” Cullen asked, catching sight of Ellana's still form on the bed. Even in sleep she looked different,

“It was Ellana's idea,” Cassandra answered, “She thinks that seeing her like this is distressing for you. She thought this might make things easier. Adan's sleeping draught proves as useful as ever.”

Cullen nodded, he appreciated the thought, but nothing about this was easy.

Cassandra cleared her throat and stepped between Cullen and the bed, grabbing his full attention, “Before we start I need to be very clear here, Cullen. What we're about to attempt has never been done before, I -”

“I know, Cassandra.”

“But I can't promise -”

“I get it,” Cullen snapped,

“He knows,” Cole said softly, “You're trying to help, but you're just making it harder.”

“I understand, Cassandra,” Cullen said, feeling a little stab of guilt for taking out his temper on his friend, “I really do. But I have to believe it will work.”

Cassandra swallowed any other argument she had ready, much to Cullen's relief, and shook her head before turning to Cole, “Cole, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Cole nodded. Considering how pale Cole usually was, Cullen hadn't expected him capable of getting any paler, but he'd been wrong. Cole's face was almost pasty under his large hat. He hadn't looked away from the bed since they'd walked in, and Cullen could see a small muscle jumping in his clenched jaw, but he looked determined when he nodded again and stepped forward.

Cassandra seemed to be holding her breath when she moved aside to let Cole pass, “Cullen, are you sure you wouldn't rather wait out -” Cullen cut her off with a look, and she rolled her eyes before moving up to stand next to him, “Fine, suit yourself, I'm going to stop asking.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen sighed dramatically, Cassandra snorted but Cullen could see the beginnings of a smile forming, and he felt some of the tension leave him.

The pair of them stood side by side in silence and watched Cole take a few tentative steps toward the bed before carefully perching on the edge. Cullen had prepared himself to feel concerned for Ellana, but was surprised to discover how much he was also concerned for Cole. They were putting a lot of pressure on him, the only cure they knew of was resting solely on his shoulders. Cullen could feel his own concern mirrored in Cassandra, could see it in the stiffness of her neck and the sharp fold of her arms. It was really quite astonishing; at the beginning Cullen and Cassandra would both have been quite happy to kill the spirit and be done with it. Or throw him out of The Inquisition at the very least. Now they were both worried that they were putting too much pressure on him,

“Cole?” Cullen took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Cole's shoulder, “It's going to be alright, we'll be right here.”

“I know. It helps.”

Cullen squeezed his shoulder gently before letting go and taking his spot again next to Cassandra,

“Hello Ellana,” Cole said quietly, “This won't hurt, I promise.”

His long, spindly fingers reached out to rest on either side of Ellana's temples. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. Cassandra seemed to be holding her breath again, her lips soundlessly forming the words to The Chant of Light. Cullen gripped the pommel of the ever-present sword at his hip, his hands were aching with the need to do something to help further, but all he could do was watch as Cole's breathing evened out.

Everything became quiet, even the sounds of the castle seemed to vanish; the entirety of Skyhold seemed to be poised as it waited. The birds outside stopped ruffling their feathers, the wind dropped, the sounds of the rustling leaves of the trees quietened. The world itself held its breath.

_It will work,_ Cullen told himself firmly, _it will work because it has to._

This was their one and only chance to make things right, to put things back to how they should be. After everything they'd done, that they'd been through, they deserved this, they'd earned it. Through blood, sweat and sacrifice; they'd earned it. They'd earned the right to be whole, to be happy.

_It will work._

He let the belief fill him, to take over. The ache in his hands melted away, the shakiness departed, his chest loosened. The Maker wouldn't let them fail, not after everything. Life wasn't that cruel. The gnawing doubt was gone, the racing of his heart that had kept him pacing his office was barely a memory at that moment; a moment of perfect faith, of hope and conviction.

Then it shattered.

Cole's eyes flew open on a terrified gasp. He jerked back, scrambling away from them. The leather heels of his boots squeaked against the wooden floor, his legs almost tying themselves in knots as he flung himself off the bed and to the floor, propelling himself toward the other side of the room,

“It had no shape,” he muttered, his hands coming up to cover his face, “It shouldn't have no shape. It's wrong, all wrong. Lost and wandering, wondering. Wrong.”

“Cole?” Cullen started after him, perhaps a little too quickly because Cole pushed himself even further away with his feet, retreating to a corner.

Cullen froze, his hand already held out, he licked his lips, his heart hammering in his chest once again as he thought of Cole's section of the folder;

_Cole is stronger than he thinks he is. When he's afraid it's for good reason. Trust his fear, and be careful. Kid gloves or you'll get no sense out of him until it's too late. Worse, you'll hurt him. Please don't hurt him. He will protect you for always if you let him, so let him. But you need to return it if I can't, look after him for me, love him for me. Protect him._

Cullen forced himself to calm down, he slowly retracted his arm and turned it palm up, “Cole, it's alright,” he tried again, speaking as gently as he was able, “What happened?”

“It's — it's empty. It shouldn't be empty, it's the fade,” Cole's slim arms moved up to completely cover his face, Cullen could barely hear his muffled voice from behind them “Empty and dark. Shapeless. It wasn't right, _isn't_ right. She was bright. Before. Before was too bright, couldn't look properly. Now it's dark.”

“I don't -” Cullen shook his head, turning to Cassandra

“Spirits and demons use a mages emotions and will to lend the fade shape. If there are no emotions to draw from, then...” Cassandra's voice trailed off, her gaze jumping up to meet his as realisation dawned on them both,

“Then there's no shape, no way to navigate it.” Cullen finished with a groan,

“I can't,” Cole murmured, “I can't find her in the dark.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was never going to be that easy, was it?


	37. Spiritually challenged.

The rap of knuckles on his door woke Cullen up. He lifted his head from where it had been resting on his arms and blinked blearily. Early morning sunlight poured through his window, bouncing off the glass bottle that was sat almost finished on his desk. He wasn't sure what had been in the bottle, just that after a while he had stopped tasting it, he'd carried on drinking just to have something to do with his hands. Glancing down at the paper under his arm he remembered why he'd started drinking in the first place. He'd been trying to write a letter to Ellana's clan; it was up to him to tell them what had happened. Leliana had offered to do it for him but, much like Ellana wanting to notify the families of the people they'd lost at Haven, he'd needed to do it himself. The blank paper that still sat on his desk was a testament to how successful he'd been. Starting to write the letter had felt too much like giving up, by telling her clan he was admitting to himself that they'd failed, that there was no curing her. The alcohol that had followed was inevitable, as was the hangover.

Whoever was at his door knocked again, sharper this time. Cullen cleared his throat, wincing at the pain it sent through his head and the thick feeling in his throat. His tongue was a dry, scaly thing in his mouth and his breath tasted awful. He poured himself another glass from the bottle to chase the taste away, vaguely aware that he was probably drinking too much, and not particularly caring.

“Enter,” he called once he'd emptied the tumbler, wincing again at the dejected tone of his own voice.

Hawke poked her head around his door before taking a few steps into the room, dropping her bag by the still open door, “Shit,” she cursed, wrinkling her nose and waving a hand before her face, “Smells like a damn brewery in here.”

Her usual attire was absent, she was wearing simple travelling leathers, nary a dagger in sight. She looked strange without her Champion armour; smaller, he guessed. He hadn't seen her without her armour for a long time, it was easy to forget she'd arrived in Kirkwall a refugee.

Cullen scowled, contemplating Kirkwall while suffering with a hangover was not something that he was in the mood for, “I thought you'd be miles away by now Hawke, what do you want?” Hawke glanced quickly at the door then back at him again, now that she was inside she appeared as though she'd rather be anywhere else. Her weight shifted uneasily from foot to foot, and she didn't seem to know quite what to do with her hands, “I have little time and even less patience today, Hawke. Whatever it is just do me a favour and get it over with.” He had intended to sound authoritative, commanding, instead he just sounded tired. He groaned to himself; he really needed to get his act together before facing the others.

“I — well, we — look, before we go any further, we're here to help, Cullen, alright? So just — just take it easy.”

Cullen continued to look at her, already bored with the conversation. He just wanted to get Hawke back out of his office so he could finish off the bottle on his desk before dealing with whatever fresh misery today had in store for him. No doubt he'd have to see Ellana, there wasn't any use in trying to avoid her. He'd need to pick up another bottle, or two — or half a dozen — at some point. Dorian or Varric would have something stashed away.

Hawke was watching him as the thoughts passed rather sluggishly through his mind. She raised an eyebrow then sighed before turning back to the door and giving whoever was hidden in the shadows a nod. The figure that walked into his office was covered from head to toe in a dark robe, it wasn't until the door was firmly closed and the figure pulled down his hood that Cullen recognised him,

“You!” Cullen growled, suddenly sober and hangover-free, he jumped from his chair with enough force to send it crashing to the ground.

Anders just smirked at him, crossing his arms over his chest, “Hello, Templar.”

Cullen shoved the heavy wooden desk aside, its legs squealed against the stone floor. The bottle of alcohol fell to the ground and shattered, filling the air with its heady scent. Cullen didn't notice, hands balled into tight fists he barrelled towards Anders, his muscles bunched and ready.

Hawke jumped between them, her hands held out to stop him, “I know, Cullen, I know. But we're here to help.”

“Oh yes, we're here to help,” Anders' eyes narrowed, his smirk turning sly, “What's the matter, Knight-Captain Cullen? Tranquillity not looking like such a peaceful compromise any more?”

Cullen snarled, his nostrils flared as he attempted to push his way past Hawke.

Hawke braced her palms on the tops of his arms, looking at him beseechingly, “Cullen, don't please.” Cullen glared at Anders over her head but halted, “Anders, love?” Hawke said sweetly over her shoulder, “The mood this man is in right now, he could tear you to pieces in under five seconds. And the mood _I'm_ in right now, I might just let him, so do us all a favour and shut the fuck up.”

Anders' smirk dropped, he leant back into one hip, arms still crossed, but he seemed to be taking the threat seriously, so Cullen turned to Hawke instead, “What in the Makers name is he doing here, Hawke?”

“I'll be damned if I know,” Anders muttered under his breath,

Hawke's jaw clenched, her fingers tensed on Cullen's arms before her head whipped around to snap at Anders over her shoulder, “Anders, what the hell did I just say? Keep this shit up at Cullen might not even get a look in.” Hawke and Anders looked at each other for a few seconds, until Anders finally inclined his head and took a step backwards to lean against the wall. Hawke took a deep, cleansing breath before looking back up at Cullen, “Alright, I get it, I do. Anders isn't exactly your favourite person -”

Cullen gaped at her, “My favourite — are you joking? He single-handedly started the mage Templar war! He blew up Kirkwall's chantry, he -”

Hawke rolled her eyes, “Oh, come now, Cullen,” she said, “Even you must see the war was coming long before that happened. The war had been brewing for centuries.”

“And we all know whose side of the war you were on,” Cullen reminded her, his voice on the verge of a shout, “I was there, remember?”

Hawke let go of his arms to throw her own up in exasperation, “You know what? Fine. Fucking fine. You want to have this argument? Yes, I took the mage's side, I'll always take the mage's side. It doesn't matter, this isn't about the fucking war, alright? We can argue all damn day about who was right and who was wrong. It still won't matter, it won't change anything. It's done. And it's not why we're here.”

Cullen lowered himself so he was nose-to-nose with Hawke, barely an inch between them, “Then enlighten me,” he seethed, “Tell me the reason you've brought the most wanted man in Thedas to my door, _into my home_ , and this had better be bloody good Hawke, or I swear...”

Hawke waved his threat away, “Yes, yes, it better be good or you'll set your damn righteous army on us. You think I don't know that? For fucks sake Cullen, it's like you don't know me at all. You should know we wouldn't be here without a damn good reason.”

Anders shifted from his spot by the wall, stepping forward to place a hand on Hawke's shoulder, “In fact, we're not here for _you_ at all. We're here for The Inquisitor.”

Anders words brought Cullen up short, he froze, his anger momentarily quelled.

Hawke used his sudden silence to speak quickly, “A little birdie told me that there might be a way to undo the rite of tranquillity, but you need a spirit to do it.”

Cullen groaned and swiped a hand down his face, Varric really couldn't not interfere, “This little birdie wouldn't happen to carry a crossbow, would it?”

Hawke's lips twitched into a reluctant grin, “He has been known to do so, from time to time.”

“Well you're too late,” Cullen admitted, “We already tried. Cole tried to find her, but he couldn't navigate the fade like he used to, not since becoming more human. Cole is as close to a spirit as we can get without Solas here.”

“That might not be entirely accurate,” Hawke said, she turned from Cullen to look at Anders, “Show him.”

Anders gaze flickered between Cullen and Hawke, his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, he seemed to be on the verge of saying something when Hawke nodded encouragingly. With an air of resignation, Anders shook his head slightly, muttering something Cullen couldn't hear under his breath, and stepped away from them and into an empty space in the office, “You've got the powders?”

“Of course,” Hawke said, she pulled a bag of brightly coloured powder from a pouch on her belt and rolled it around her palm, “It's knock-out powder,” she explained to Cullen, “Our friend can be a trifle... unpredictable. And I don't think he's gonna be too happy to see you.”

Cullen shook his head as though hoping this would all suddenly start to make sense, “Knock-out powder? What are -”

“Just watch. And, er, try not to freak out or anything.”

Anders closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxed as he breathed deeply through his nose. Before Cullen could ask anything else he felt a sudden rush of mana, so strong he could taste it, it set his teeth on edge and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to tell Anders to stop whatever he was doing, but just then all words were robbed from him as blue flames burst into life on Anders' skin, seeming to engulf him from the inside out. Cullen started forward, but Hawke held a hand up to halt him. Forced to do nothing but watch, Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands itching with the need to do something, his Templar training practically screaming at him. Blue fire spat from Anders' fingers, it burst through the skin on his face, leaving glowing blue streaks in his flesh. The transition lasted only a few seconds, when Anders opened his eyes again they were the same bright blue was the flames.

Hawke waved an arm, “Cullen, meet Justice.”

Cullen blinked hard, half convinced that what he was seeing was just his over-stressed brain playing tricks on him, “He's — he's an abomination?!”

Hawke pulled a face that was caught somewhere between a smirk and a wince, “We prefer the term “spiritually challenged”, but yeah. Or, sort of anyway.”

Cullen could barely believe what he was seeing, he could believe Hawke's smirk even less, “Is this supposed to be funny?”

“When you've seen the amount of shit we have... well, laugh or cry, right?” she shrugged, “I know it's fucked up, and Anders _is_ possessed, but not in the way you're thinking. You've seen abominations created when a mage is forcefully possessed by a demon, but Justice is a spirit sharing a willing host. The results are, as you can see, very different. Justice was trapped outside the fade, banished here, and was forced into a corpse by a powerful mage. Now he shares Anders body with him.”

“He's a Templar,” Justice growled, his fingers twitched toward Anders' staff. Hawke waved the pouch of knock-out powder in his direction and his hands stilled. Apparently Justice was familiar with the effects,

Hawke's smirk widened, “We prefer the term “Commander”, but yeah. Or, sort of anyway.”

“Why am I here?” Justice asked, his voice seemed to be coming from all around them, it sounded like it was seeping from the walls themselves. He began to pace the few steps between the displaced desk and the wall, blue trails of light following behind him,

“The Inquisitor was made tranquil,” Hawke explained, “There may be a way to cure her, but we need a spirit.”

Justice glared at Cullen, the blue flame of his eyes flared, “There are some that might say a Templar's lover being made tranquil _is_ justice.”

“I'm going to -” Cullen started, reaching for the hilt of his sword,

“You're not going to do anything,” Hawke snapped at him, “And Justice, stop being a dick. We both know Anders doesn't have complete control over you yet, if there wasn't an injustice here then no amount of persuasion would drag your blue fiery ass into the open.”

The realisation of what Hawke was planning hit Cullen with a thunk, it was almost enough to send him reeling, or at least reaching for his sword again. Hawke didn't have the reputation of being the most stable person while they'd been in Kirkwall, but this was Ellana-level of crazy, “You expect me to allow that — that —” he waved an arm at Justice, “That _thing_ anywhere near her?”

She turned to look at him with her hands on her hips, “Your other spirit didn't work, the way I see it, you don't have a lot of fucking options here, Cullen. What can he even do at this point? Make her _more_ tranquil?”

Cullen stared at her, temporarily lost for words. Of all the things he was expecting to happen after Ellana was made tranquil, having Hawke walk in here with an abomination claiming to be able to help was pretty far down the list,

“You can't lose anything by hearing us out,” Hawke continued, “Listen to our plan, you don't like it, we leave.”

The two sides of him warred inside his mind; the part of him that would forever remain a Templar was roaring at him to run the pair of them through and have it done, no good could come from associating with an abomination. Let alone the abomination that had destroyed Kirkwall's chantry. The other side begged him to listen to them, to at least hear what they'd come here to say. This could be the salvation he was looking for, the thing that could save Ellana.

The second side of him won, it was barely a contest, “Fine,” he barked, “But he puts so much as a toe out of line...”

Relief washed across Hawke's face, “He won't.” She turned back to Justice, “Let Anders back through.” Justice glowered at her, and Hawke took a step forward into his personal space, “I said, let Anders back through.”

Justice narrowed his eyes at her a moment longer, then withdrew just as quickly as he'd arrived. Within the blink of an eye, Justice was gone and Anders was himself again.

He sagged forward a little, falling onto Hawke's shoulder, “I wish you wouldn't call him a dick, love. Now I've got to put up with him being in a mood.”

Hawke chuckled, “Maybe he shouldn't _be_ a dick then, problem solved.” Anders stood straight again, Hawke held her arms at the ready to catch him if he stumbled, “Are you alright?”

Anders nodded and Hawke caught his hand, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. The small act of tenderness was something Cullen would have sworn Hawke wasn't capable of. It made his gut clench with a longing for Ellana that was so strong he turned away from them to straighten his desk.

He nudged the broken bottle away with a foot and picked his chair up before sitting down, it gave him a few seconds to organise his thoughts. A part of him still couldn't believe he was even considering listening to them, “What exactly is it you're suggesting?”

Hawke grabbed the other two chairs and pulled them up to the desk, prodding Anders into one before taking the other, “According to Varric, it is possible to reverse the rite of tranquillity, that's how the Seekers of Truth gain their powers,”

“The information is not widely known, we've only recently come into possession of it ourselves, but essentially, yes, that's correct. According to the Book of Secrets, if a spirit of faith deems a Seeker worthy then it will reach through the veil from the fade, it touches their mind and tranquillity breaks. We were hoping that we could do the same, but...” Cullen thought of the conversation he'd had with Cassandra and their already failed attempt, “But she isn't the most spiritually-minded of people.”

Hawke snorted, “Shit, Cullen, that's putting it mildly.”

“Cole is, or at least he was, a spirit of compassion, we had hoped he would be able to mimic it, but he couldn't navigate the fade.”

“It is almost impossible for a spirit or demon to see a tranquil from the fade,” Anders explained, “That's why there are so few incidents of a tranquil becoming possessed. It does happen, but it's very rare. If you imagine a mage in the fade drawing a spirit or demon to them like a moth to a flame, a tranquil is little more than an ember, a spark. But you weren't trying to entice a spirit from the fade, you tried to connect a spirit with her mind from _this_ side of the veil, that's why it didn't work with Cole. The spirit needs to reach through the veil from _that_ side.”

“So Cole just needs to enter the fade first?”

“Not quite. With the Seekers it's simpler because they're not mages, they don't have the same connection to the fade that mages do, so when curing their tranquillity you have a smaller connection to repair. With a mage it's more complicated, their connection is stronger so the damage is more severe, it's a much harder connection to try to fix, you need to do it from a certain area of the fade; where the mage's connection was strongest. Spirits use emotions to shape the fade, since the tranquil have no emotions there is nothing to lend the fade shape. So you need to find the area of the fade that The Inquisitor shaped _before_ she was made tranquil and have the spirit reach through the veil from there.”

Cullen shook his head, in all his time in the tower he'd never heard of such an act being performed, “And how would we do that?”

Hawke pulled herself from her chair and retrieved her bag from where she'd dropped it by the door. She rummaged in it for a few seconds before pulling out a battered old book and dropping it onto the desk in front of Cullen, what looked like Dalish writing graced the front cover, “With this. When I was in Kirkwall a Dalish Keeper sent me into the fade with an old Dalish ritual to save a boy called Feynrial, she gave me this book as a reward for saving his life. It's called the Tomb of Slumbering Elders, it belonged to a dreamer in their clan, and it just so happens to contain the ritual she used.”

Cullen brushed a hand down the cover, tracing the embossed Dalish lettering with a finger, “I remember that name, the boy Feynrial. Ser Thrask was hoping to bring him into the Circle peacefully.”

“I know,” Hawke admitted, her voice taking a turn toward bitter, “He decided he'd rather be free with the Dalish than go to the Gallows.”

Cullen glanced up, “I know. Who did you think called off the search?”

Hawke's features softened, “You knew? You let him go?”

“There was very little I didn't know about in that city,” he glanced at Anders, “Including your little clinic in Dark Town.”

Anders opened the book and leafed to a page near the back, “This ritual allowed Hawke to enter Feynrial's area of the fade because they had a strong emotional tie but, as I said, a tranquil is a spark in the fade, almost invisible for a spirit. It will be much harder, so the bond must be much stronger. You need a mage with a very strong emotional bond with The Inquisitor, that should allow them to find the area of the fade that was shaped by her emotions. A mage will remain conscious in the fade and can then act as a guide for Justice.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, this was sheer madness. He hadn't known magic such as this existed, the Chantry would outlaw this magic in a heartbeat, “You expect me to allow you and a mage to enter the fade to find this spark? How can I trust you not to make matters worse, or hurt the mage we send with you?”

Hawke raised a brow, “But you trust Cole?”

“I didn't,” Cullen admitted, “Not at first. I wanted to kill him. But things change, people change. Cole's different,” he shrugged, “Cole's family.”

“Shit,” Hawke snorted, “Did a spirit possess _you_ while no one was looking?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Cullen muttered,

“It's not just a spirit that can change a person, Hawke,” Anders said, watching Cullen thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head, “I, or rather Justice, will not be able to harm The Inquisitor, nor the mage that accompanies us. We will not physically be in the fade, we would be visiting the fade in a similar way to when we dream, causing physical harm is impossible.”

Hawke chewed her lip thoughtfully, “Of course, Justice isn't a true spirit, but neither is Cole. If they were to both go?”

“Equal parts compassion and justice?” Cullen huffed a weary laugh, “That sounds about right, actually.”

“So?” Hawke glanced between Cullen and Anders, “We doing this?”

Cullen closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

_Maker help me,_ he thought, _is there anything I won't do if there's a chance of bringing her back?_

“Yes, we'll try it,” he opened his eyes again and looked sternly at Hawke, “But just so we're clear; if he hurts her, or anyone else in Skyhold, then I _will_ kill him.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke nodded, her grin back in place as she folded her arms over her chest.

Cullen groaned as a new horror hit him, “Cassandra is just going to love this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun Duuuuuun!


	38. I may start to like that word after all.

With Anders in Skyhold, Cullen saw no reason to keep being coy about their plan. He decided to get it over and done with as soon as possible and assembled the entire inner-circle in The Den for an emergency meeting. Leaving Anders locked safely in his office, Cullen took Hawke with him to the Heralds Rest.

Cassandra had acted predictably, with much swearing and punching of the nearest wall. If it had been anyone but Ellana that had needed Anders help, then Cullen didn't think he'd have been able to prevent her from running out and turning Anders into a bloody smear on the battlements.

Cullen kept the meeting short, explaining their crazy excuse of a plan as simply as he was able, with the occasional interjection from Hawke. He spoke to them from the front of the room, rather than his usual seat at the table. He didn't join the others in taking a strong cup of the coffee that had been brought up, he remained on his feet, his arms crossed and spine straight.

The plan had been met with eye-rolling from Sera and a concerned look from Dorian. Despite Dorian's visual concern, he had agreed to act as the guide for Anders and Cole when they entered the fade. Cullen had expected arguments, he could barely believe they were doing this himself, but even though looks were exchanged around the table, no one outright argued with him. He wasn't sure if it was because they wanted to cure Ellana almost as much as he did, or because they didn't want to burst the new delicate bubble of hope that Cullen was feeling. Either way, the lack of objections was a victory as far as Cullen was concerned, if he'd had to talk them into it there was a good chance all he'd do was talk himself out of it. The plan was a long shot, rooted in magic that Cullen didn't trust, but it was likely their last chance.

There had been questions when he was done, a lot of questions, but he'd let Hawke answer most of them. The only person that didn't seem to have anything to say about their plan was Varric. The dwarf had been unusually quiet since Cullen had told them that Anders was in Skyhold. Once the others started to file out, Cullen tried to catch his eye. As though Varric could feel the weight of Cullen's eyes upon him, he lingered, making a show of gathering up the coffee cups and stacking them on a tray until they were alone.

Cullen waited for him by the door, arms still crossed as he leant against the wall, trying — and failing — to look casual.

Varric dropped the pretence as soon as the last of their friends had left, “Something on your mind, Curly?”

“Tell me you didn't know about this,” Cullen said, surprising even himself by the anger he wasn't able to keep out of his voice,

“I take it you mean Hawke's sudden reappearance with Blondie?” Cullen nodded once, hard and sharp, and Varric sighed, “I didn't, honest truth.”

Cullen scoffed, “Come off it, Varric. You know everything that goes on around here, you really expect me to believe that -”

“That what? That I knew my best friend was going to stroll in here with a mass murderer? You really think that I'd think bringing Blondie within spitting distance of you and the Seeker was a good idea?”

“You've kept secrets from The Inquisition before,” Cullen reminded him,

“Yes, I did. And I told Ellana I'd never do it again, and I meant it. Yes, I'm still writing Hawke, and yes I told her what happened when the Kid tried getting through to Ellana. Hawke's been around the block a bit, I thought she might have some ideas. But no, no I didn't know she was gonna bring Blondie into it, you'll just have to trust me on that.”

Cullen hesitated, he looked at Varric carefully. His reaction to Anders' appearance had been different from the others, whereas they'd been angry or suspicious, Varric had only looked sad. Cullen recalled the start of Varric's section of the folder Ellana had left;

_Creators, where do I even start with Varric? Varric would describe himself as a compulsive liar, this, ironically, is a lie. Varric will embellish, he'll deceive to save someone or protect them. But never to harm or to hurt. He likes to talk, he likes to tell stories, but beneath that silver tongue is a pure heart. He'll never admit to it, of course, but it's there. I trust him with my life, and, more importantly, I'll even trust him with yours. Have faith in him, trust him._

“Alright,” Cullen dropped his arms, “I believe you.”

Varric nodded and waved at one of the empty seats, inviting Cullen to join him as he drained the last of the coffee into two of the cleaner looking cups.

Cullen dropped into the seat and took the coffee gratefully, it was only then that Cullen realised that Varric hadn't called Ellana by her usual nickname, “Wait, you called her by her real name, I don't think I've ever heard you call her by her name before.”

Varric shrugged and waved his mug, “Yeah, well 'Lea doesn't really fit any more. She didn't tell you what it means?”

“No, she knows?”

“Course she does,” Varric grinned, “It's elven. Daisy gave me an elven dictionary one year back in Kirkwall, she thought it might help me write elven characters, didn't have the heart to tell her that I just made the language up when I wrote it since it's mostly humans that read my books.”

Varric's eyes became unfocused for a moment as he reminisced about some of the better times he'd had in Kirkwall, “So,” Cullen verbally nudged him to bring him back to the here and now, “What does it mean?”

“Enlea means to spark, to ignite. When I first made it up it was because of the anchor, you know, the great big green sparky thing? Plus mages igniting shit all over the place. I dunno, it just fit.”

“When you first made it up? The meaning changed?”

“Kinda,” Varric shrugged again, nothing quite so obvious as a blush made its way up his cheeks, but he shifted a little in his chair, his thick fingers drummed on the top of the table, “When we first arrived in Haven it was bad, and not just because of the explosion at the Conclave. The Seeker was angry, furious even, all the damn time. Nightingale, quite frankly, scared the piss outta me. Ruffles was nice, but maybe a little too nice, no drinking and debauchery outta that one unless you get a card game in front of her. And you? Andraste's tits, you were just insufferable. All these people start coming together, all insane in their own ways, they were scared or angry or both. And then 'Lea was just — you remember what me and Sparkler said about you two running things from the beginning? That was true, you were the brains, and she was -” now a blush really did start to creep up his neck, but Cullen understood exactly what Varric meant,

“She was the heart,” Cullen said quietly.

_That_ was what she'd been trying to say in the letter she'd left him, but couldn't quite manage. He knew how to place an army on a battlefield, how to turn the odds in their favour, could predict the moves of their enemies. But it was Ellana that knew the soldier's names. _That_ was what she brought to The Inquisition that the others didn't.

Varric watched the realisation play across Cullen's face with a nod and a mouthful of cold coffee. Cullen finished his own cup and pushed his chair back from the table.

Varric let him get as far as the door before speaking again, “This plan of yours? I don't know shit about the fade, you think it'll work?”

“It had better.” He paused, the door held open in his hand before he looked back at Varric still sat at the table, “At the Shrine of Dumat, she said something to me in elven that I didn't understand, do you still have that dictionary?”

 

A few hours later and all of Cullen's duties were squared away, Rylen having taken on most of the more tedious jobs. He had asked the others not to tell Ellana about the plan they were hoping to put into motion that very evening, he wanted to explain it to her himself.

Outside the door to their old rooms he paused, it was odd to knock on a bedroom door that he'd once considered his own, and would hopefully be his own again in just a few hours.

Cullen found her sitting behind her large desk when he rounded the stairs, afternoon sunlight poured through the windows. Medical texts were open and spread around her, some spilling onto the floor and held open with weights. She looked up from her notes to smile at him politely as he crossed the room,

“Working hard?” he asked, glancing at the books and seeing a very detailed sketch of a human skeleton,

“Yes. The books in the library are proving to be highly useful. I'm gaining a much better understanding of the anatomy. With some of this, I suspect that we may soon make a breakthrough on non-magical healing. It may prove to be of some benefit.”

“It may prove to be more beneficial than you think, you're doing good work, you should be proud.” Cullen winced the moment the words left his mouth, proud was something that Ellana could no longer be, but not for much longer. Ellana seemed to be inclined to let his slip go, and continued to smile at him. With a sigh, Cullen grabbed the heavy chair that sat opposite her and dragged it around to the side of the desk so he was next to her before sitting down, “I have something to tell you, we may have found a new way to cure you. Hawke has returned to Skyhold with knowledge of a Dalish ritual that will allow a small group to enter the fade, she believes that a strong emotional tie will be enough to allow them to enter the area of the fade you shaped before being made tranquil. Once there, a spirit can then reach through the veil to touch your mind, that should break the tranquillity. In theory.”

“Yet you look troubled.”

“Is it that obvious?” he tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it, he rubbed the back of his neck instead, “Anders is here. He's volunteered to help, and — it's difficult to explain, but a spirit now shares his body with him. He will be part of the group we send into the fade.”

Even after Anders' offer of aid, Cullen still couldn't help the flare of anger he felt at hearing the name, and his face pulled into a scowl,

“I see.” Ellana said, “Is it difficult? To accept Anders' help after what happened in Kirkwall?”

“It is,” he looked up from the desk, managing a smile this time, albeit a tired one, “But not as difficult as the alternative would be. And this may be the only way. I do not trust Anders, but according to him, he can't do anything to hurt you while they are in the fade, and he and Hawke both know what I'd do to him if that turned out to not be true.”

“You believe it is worth the risk?”

“If we want to cure you, then I don't believe we have a choice.”

Ellana nodded in acceptance, there was no fear or doubt, Cullen didn't think he could have missed the absence of fear, but he did. Suddenly he found the last thing he wanted to talk about was the ritual, he found his gaze travelling over the texts spread out around them as he looked for a distraction. Some of the papers she had were from the vaults they'd found in the basement of Skyhold, rolls of old parchment were blended in with the modern texts as well as her own notes on Dalish healing.

“Why don't you show me what you've been working on? Unless...” he was a little unsure of how well she would accept his presence, but her polite smile hadn't changed,

“If you would prefer to stay, I would not object to the company.”

 

The next few hours passed pleasantly, even if Cullen didn't understand half of the things that Ellana told him, and he had to ignore the slight nagging feeling of this being the calm before the storm. It was with a twinge of regret that he left to prepare for that evening. Before Cullen had even reached the door to the Great Hall, he could hear voices raised in anger, _something else has gone wrong, why am I not surprised?_

He pulled the door open, already preparing himself for the next crisis, and saw Cassandra storming through the hall, Dorian and Hawke hot on her heels,

“ — out of the question,” Cassandra was saying, cutting off whatever Dorian had been trying to say,

“It's not your decision,” Dorian snapped back,

Cassandra halted in her steps and turned to point a finger at Dorian's chest, “The Inquisitor would not allow -”

Dorian didn't take a step back from Cassandra, but his voice dropped into a more reasonable tone, “With all due respect to Ell, it's not her decision either, it's his.”

Cullen pulled the door closed behind him, hoping the noise hadn't made its way up to Ellana, and hurried over to them, “Makers breath, can't I leave you alone for five minutes? Whatever this is, I'm sure that not every person in Skyhold needs to know about it.”

“Exactly what I was just saying,” Cassandra said, giving the other two a scowl, “If you have a few moments, Commander, we should go over what's going to happen when Anders and Cole -”

Hawke pulled her head back, looking affronted, “Wait, you're just going to ignore everything we've just told you?”

“It should be fairly simple to send Dorian into the fade with them to act as a guide,” Cassandra continued, as though she hadn't heard Hawke at all,

“How simple?” Cullen asked, already suspicious of any plan that deemed itself simple, “Similar to when the Circle performs a Harrowing?”

Cassandra shook her head with a slight reassuring smile, “Not nearly so traumatic. During a mage's Harrowing, they are sent to an area of the fade specifically occupied by a demon. What we're doing is closer to how Solas described the fade when he spoke of visiting ancient ruins. The Inquisition's mages can send them all to the fade using the spell in Hawke's book, then Dorian will be able to act as a guide for Anders and Cole. Of course, only a mage can retain consciousness -”

“Well, that's just blatantly untrue,” Dorian interrupted, Hawke nodding at his side,

“Dorian,” Cassandra warned, threat ringing in her tone,

“Using this ritual it doesn't _have_ to be a mage,” Dorian said reasonably,

“Yes, it does,” Cassandra snapped, she glared at Dorian, trying to stare him down, “That is _not_ an option.”

“It is the exact definition of an option,” Hawke said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning into one hip, “When we did this ritual in Kirkwall, it was me that was sent into the fade, I retained full consciousness and the last time I checked I wasn't a mage.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, no plan was ever simple, he knew it, “So, what are you suggesting?”

“The fade is a realm of primaeval matter,” Dorian explained, “In its natural state, such as the areas between dreams, we call it the raw fade. The raw fade is a void where many of our natural laws do not apply, gravity affects things differently, and what have you. The areas that mages visit when they dream are often demesnes of spirits, or demons if you prefer, those areas of the fade are shaped by the mages emotions to reflect the mages version of the real world. Since a tranquil no longer have emotions and no longer enter the fade, we need a way to bridge the gap to the area of the fade that Ell created before she became tranquil. It's really quite fascinating.” Dorian looked around at the three of them with a smile, clearly believing that whatever he had just told them had settled the matter entirely.

There was a beat of silence before Hawke scoffed a short laugh, “For fucks sake, Tevinter. I'm on your side and even I think you're talking bollocks.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen sighed, “I thought it was just me.”

Dorian looked between them and shook his head, “This must be a Ferelden thing, I swear.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, “Don't strain yourself talking to the simple southerners. Basically, Cullen, the fade is a damn mess. The mages emotions bring order to the chaos, they force the fade to take shape. Anders and Cole need to reach the area of the fade that The Inquisitor's emotions shaped, normally we could just use her natural tie to the fade, but since she's tranquil the tie is broken. We need a guide to bridge the gap. Since the fade is shaped by emotion, the stronger the guides' emotional tie to The Inquisitor is, the easier it will be for them to navigate it.”

Dorian nodded, “It's simply put, but accurate. I love Ell like she was my own sister, I like to think she feels the same way about me, but there's someone here who's emotional bond is stronger than my own.”

“You mean me?” Cullen asked, “You want me to act as the guide for Anders and Cole?”

“Yes,” said Dorian and Hawke at the exact same time that Cassandra said,

“No,”

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, that clears everything up,” he said dryly.

“It is a moot point, since Cullen would not be able to retain consciousness while in the fade,” Cassandra insisted,

“Haven't I just told you that I did it?” Hawke said,

“Cullen has a better chance than I do,” Dorian said to Cassandra, “Besides, you will need a mage here to work the spell, I surely don't need to remind you that I am far more skilled than any of the mages you have in the tower.” Cassandra opened her mouth to argue with him, Dorian simply turned his back on her and addressed Cullen, “The book described a way for a non-mage to retain consciousness in the fade as part of the ritual. I can send you and the others in with a spell.”

Cassandra snorted in disgust and threw her hands up,

“And I'll have a better chance than you of finding this spark, or tie, or whatever it is, for Anders and Cole?” Cullen asked, relieved that they finally seemed to be getting to the heart of the matter,

“Yes,” Cassandra admitted, “But -”

“Then I'll do it.” Cullen nodded,

“It's not that simple. It was not my intention to tell you, but — ugh,” Cassandra snorted again and shot Dorian and Hawke another scowl, “The spell alone isn't enough. It is true that this ritual does allow a non-mage to remain conscious, it also, however, requires the use of lyrium.”

Cullen looked at the three of them blankly, he was clearly missing something, “Is it a question of power? We have lyrium in the Templars quarters, I fail to see the problem.”

“You misunderstand me, Cullen,” Cassandra shook her head, looking about as conflicted as Cullen had ever seen her, “The ritual requires the _consumption_ of lyrium.”

_Ah_.

For a moment the world seemed to stop. Cullen felt his stomach roll, a chill travelled down his neck and spine to settle in the small of his back, and his heart skipped a beat.

_Lyrium, why was it always Maker-forsaken lyrium?_

He had to take lyrium again.

The reality settled on his shoulders, and he nodded. It wasn't even a decision, not really. There wasn't a choice to be made, not a shadow of doubt.

Cassandra reached out to touch his arm, “Cullen you don't have to -”

He smiled tiredly at his old friend, one of only two people that had seen him at his lowest, “Yes, I do.”

Dorian rested a hand on his shoulder, “Sacrifice?”

“Sacrifice,” Cullen shrugged, “I may start to like that word after all.”

 


	39. Make sure it's worth it.

Cullen stood out on the balcony of the room he'd shared with Ellana before all of this had begun, and looked out across the Frostbacks. The sun had set only a few moments before, the pink light from the sunset was quickly fleeing the snow and the first few darts of light were appearing in the sky as the stars began to appear.

He thought of the promise he'd made to himself, the mantra that had kept him company when he'd broken his ties with The Chantry and stopped taking lyrium; not one more second of his life, of his fate, would be decided by anyone but himself. The Chantry had used the leash of lyrium to control him, to fuel his fear of magic and mages, to turn him into their sword. It was their most powerful tool, their weapon, and he was about to use it to save a mage from tranquillity. There was certainly a poetic irony there. Maybe, once this was over, he might even find that irony amusing.

Amusement seemed a long way away on that balcony, for the lyrium hadn't only been a tool and weapon of The Chantry, it had become more than that, it had become his crutch. It had erased the feeling of powerlessness he'd felt at Kinloch Hold, had helped ease the nightmares where he'd watched his brothers fall again and again until Cullen half believed it might drive him mad. It had made him feel stronger, faster, braver. But it had been a lie. It had blinded him to the injustices the mages had faced at the Gallows, to what his Knight-Commander had become, until it had almost been too late.

The person The Chantry had moulded him into... he wasn't that person any longer, he didn't _want_ to be that person any longer, and he certainly had no intention of becoming him again.

His thoughts turned to the journey he'd taken to overcome his lyrium addiction, a journey he was about to undertake again. It had taken months, _months_ , just to overcome the physical symptoms. He didn't think he'd have gotten past it the first time had it not been for Ellana and The Inquisition. Headaches, claustrophobia, paranoia, alternating between sleepless nights and mind-numbing nightmares. A thirst that no water could quench, and a cold that no fire could drive out. For a long time, it had seemed endless.

That had been harder, much harder, than the first time.

The first time Cullen had been denied lyrium was at Kinloch Hold. Most Templars endured their first bouts of mild withdrawal due to some punishment, some small infraction that meant their dosage was halved. That hadn't been the case for him. The first time Cullen had been denied lyrium was while he was enduring the torture doled out by the demons and blood mages that had invaded his circle. It had been their hands that had kept it from him, that had dangled it before him just out of his reach. The denial had just been another facet of his torment, as had the symptoms. When he'd stopped the second time, though it had been his own choice, separating the two had been... difficult. The memories — the fear — of what he'd been through had been locked up tight in the back of his mind. He'd ignored it, hoping it would go away, smothering it with lyrium and his own self-righteousness on behalf of The Chantry. He'd made himself numb to it, had pretended that was the same as dealing with it. Of course, the memories and the fear had gone nowhere. It hadn't left, it had merely been lying in wait, dormant but ready to strike, within him. With the withdrawal, the memories had come flooding back in glorious detail, threatening to drown him.

And he was about to do it all again without a moment's hesitation.

_Not one more second of my life, of my fate, will be decided by anyone but myself._

This _was_ his decision. He would use The Chantry's tool of control and, for once, he would use it to do something good.

_How would you stop them?_

_However I had to._

“You can still change your mind,” Cassandra said, startling him as she stepped out onto the balcony to join him, “You don't need to go through with this.”

“We've been over this, Cassandra, it's our best chance.”

“I know, but I also know what you went through the last time. I don't want to see you lose yourself in that pit again, and neither would Ellana.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Cullen admitted, on _that_ Cassandra was right. He suspected even tranquil Ellana would object to this course of action. He sighed as he turned to face Cassandra, “Which is why we're not going to tell her.”

“But -”

“Not until it's over,” Cullen interrupted, “We'll tell her after, not before.”

“Well, _you_ can, preferably after I've left,” Cassandra huffed, “She will kill me when she finds out I let you do this.”

“She'll kill us both,” Cullen agreed with a crooked grin, “But if she does, then at least that means it worked.”

“She's rubbed off on you, I do believe you're becoming an optimist.” Cassandra stepped across the balcony to lean on the stone railing next to him, “Who would have guessed when I met you in Kirkwall that we would have ended up here?”

Cullen chuckled, “What? You didn't predict that you'd be the new Divine and I'd be about to take lyrium again to enter the fade and save a tranquil that also happens to be The Inquisitor?”

Cassandra smiled, her shoulders relaxing a fraction, “Not even Varric could have made up the last year and made it sound believable.”

“And it's not over yet, imagine what we'll have seen in another year.”

Cassandra raised a brow at him, “You're expecting something bigger than a darkspawn magister demi-god trying to bring down the sky?”

“I don't know,” Cullen said, glancing across the mountains again, “It's a big world out there.”

Cullen's and Cassandra's postures mimicked the other; leant forward shoulder to shoulder, their forearms resting on the stone railing. A pair of scarred soldiers that had left one cause to form another, taking a few seconds of quiet before another battle. The stars began to twinkle in full force, the pale curve of the first of Thedas' moons peeked its way over the horizon, bringing the peace of the view with it.

“We're ready for you in here,” Dorian called from the other room, breaking the spell.

Cassandra straightened with a sigh and withdrew a small vial of blue liquid from her pocket, “Good hunting, Commander. Make sure it's worth it.”

Cullen nodded, “I'll find her.”

Cassandra returned his nod before vanishing back inside. Cullen looked down at the bottle sitting harmlessly in his palm. It was strange how little an effect it had on him now. At one point its song had consumed his every waking thought, he had barely been able to think of anything else, but now? He could hardly hear it at all. It had long since lost its power over him, the purpose he'd found in The Inquisition was stronger than the lyrium's hold. If he'd got past it once, then he could do it again.

He took one last moment to savour the view, to let it work its own kind of magic on him, before leaving the balcony to step back inside.

Once he'd stepped back over the threshold, however, he found only Hawke, Anders and Ellana waiting for him, “Where are the others?”

“We thought we'd give you a moment,” Hawke said, “The last time Justice was around a tranquil was when we tried to rescue a mage called Karl from the Gallows. We were too late to save Karl from the rite, but when Justice emerged it broke Karl's tranquillity. It only lasted a few minutes, but if this goes tits up...” She looked uncertainly at Ellana before turning a sad smile upon him, “Well, consider this repayment for my life.”

Cullen blinked, almost sure he'd misunderstood, “You can break the tranquillity? Here? Now?”

Hawke nodded, “It's only temporary. But if this doesn't work, then at least you can...”

She didn't finish the sentence, but Cullen understood; if this didn't work then at least he'll have been able to see her one more time, “I — yes, alright.”

Cullen wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to feel, he was pretty sure what was about to happen was unprecedented. But considering their entire relationship was based on a solid foundation of insanity, then what was one more crazy thing at this point?

_Makers breath, I'm blabbering in my own head now._

Not a good sign, but also not surprising since his stomach had clenched into a nervous ball far greater than the one he'd had in reaction to the bottle of lyrium that was now safe in his pocket.

He didn't take his eyes from Ellana as he nodded that he was ready; if this was only going to last for a few minutes then he didn't want to miss a second of it.

There was a low roar, Cullen felt the mana crackle in the air, as Justice emerged, but he didn't look away. He expected it to happen slowly, for it to be subtle. Just a slight shift as a few scraps of emotions slipped through the veil. He'd been wrong. One moment she stood in front of him with that same polite smile she'd worn since the Shrine of Dumat, the smile that still felt like a punch to the gut no matter how many times Cullen saw it. The next she blinked, and it was Ellana looking back at him.

She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, a hand flickered up to cover her mouth,

“Ellana?” he asked, the waver in his voice relaying his disbelief at what his eyes were telling him. His heart hammered in his chest, his knees felt weak as he looked at her. Her violet-blue eyes swam with tears, and she nodded, “Are you alright?”

“No, no I really don't think I am.”

He wasn't sure which of them moved first, but Hawke and Anders were suddenly the furthest thing from his mind, one of his hands were on the small of her back, the other slipped past his jaw and was buried in her hair, and she was clinging to him as though her life depended on it,

“I'm sorry,” she whispered into the side of his neck, “I'm so, so sorry.”

He hushed her and smoothed a hand over her hair, “It wasn't your fault.”

“I should have been more careful, you were right.”

Cullen huffed a chuckle and bent his head low to murmur in her ear, “I'm going to remind you of that the next time you try to do something stupid. I may get it embroidered on a tapestry.” She laughed, it was watery, but a laugh nonetheless. Maker, it felt like an age since he'd heard her laugh. He pulled back a little to rest his forehead down on hers, “We don't have long. You know the plan?”

She nodded, “If it can be done, if there's a way, then you'll find it.” Her hand slipped from the fur mantle of his cloak and up to rest against his jaw, Cullen closed his eyes for a moment as he leant into her touch, “But — ” Something in that 'but' made his eyes fly open and his stomach drop, “But if it can't, Cullen if it can't be done, then I need you to promise me something,” she was whispering, her voice rough, as she pressed her forehead harder against his. Cullen swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat, a chill made its way down his spine and a terrible feeling of dread crept into his chest, he nodded silently, “If you can't reverse it, if it can't be done, then don't let me go back into that grey place again. It's not living, it's just existing. Existing in a half-dream of grey, a nightmare you only realise you're in upon waking. I couldn't have imagined, all the music and colour from the world just gone. You know me, better than anyone ever has, you know I don't want to live like that.”

Cullen recoiled in horror, _how can she ask that of me?_

Ellana caught the back of his neck, her fingertips smoothing up to brush across the hair at his nape, keeping his forehead on hers,

“You can't ask me to do that,” he choked out,

“Cullen -”

“Please,” he begged, not hearing the desperation in his own voice, “Don't ask that of me. Anything else, I'll walk into the Black City itself if you ask me to, but don't ask me to do this.”

She tilted her face up to leave a soft, lingering kiss on his mouth, her hand moved from the back of his neck to cup the other side of his jaw. When her forehead met his again she looked at him with eyes glistening with tears, “I thought you were dead. The last time I saw you, you were bleeding to death in South Reach, I'd never been more terrified in my entire life. Then when I saw you at the Shrine of Dumat, you were there, alive and whole, and I felt nothing. I couldn't even be relieved that you were alive. That's just — I can't. I can lose the magic, the fade, my dreams, but I can't exist in that place of grey. I can't lose how I feel about you.” Cullen felt something crack deep inside his chest, it was so painful that it stole his breath. Ellana's thumb swept out across his cheek, catching the tear that fell from his eye, “Please, Cullen.”

Because he loved her, because he'd do anything for her even if it meant ripping out his own heart, he nodded.

Relief made her shoulders relax. She smiled at him, her smile — pure, light and as far from the polite smile as he'd have thought possible — made her eyes crinkle, “Thank you, ma vhenan.”

Hating himself, he pulled her tight against his chest. Her arms wrapped just as tightly around his shoulders as she reached up on her toes, her voice was muffled as she spoke into his neck, “Hug Dorian for me, would you? He needs it more than he lets on. And Varric may say he -” her entire body stiffened, going rigid under his hands, “Oh Gods, I can feel it slipping.”

He pulled back to look at her, she was pale, the fear he'd looked for earlier now shone from her eyes as her gaze darted around the room as though searching for an escape route. He cupped her cheek with one hand, drawing her gaze back to him, “You'll be alright. I swear it.”

“It's not enough time, I have so much more to tell you.”

He brushed his lips gently across her brow, “You can tell me after you wake up.”

Hawke pushed a small vial into his other hand, he'd forgotten she and Anders were there, it was a small bottle of Adan's potent sleeping draught. Cullen handed it to her, his stomach twisted painfully as he did; if this plan didn't work then this was the last time he'd see her as she had been. With trembling fingers she pulled the cork from the bottle, then hesitated, her eyes meeting his,

“You _will_ be alright,” he said again, not entirely sure if he was reassuring her or praying to the Maker,

“If I'm not, don't let it destroy you, vhenan. It was worth it, all of it, I wouldn't change a thing.”

She swallowed the draught, dropping the empty vial to the carpet as she reached up on her toes to press a firm kiss to his lips.

His arms were wrapped tightly around her back, and he caught her as her knees buckled. The sleeping draught was strong indeed. He lifted her easily, holding her close against his chest for a moment before taking the few steps to the bed and laying her gently on the sheets.

He brushed the stubborn lock of silver hair from her forehead then, with a heavy heart, turned to face Hawke and Anders. Cullen was prepared for whatever sarcastic or cutting remark Hawke had to say, but she was stood pressed against Anders' side, her hand wrapped so firmly around his that her knuckles were white.

She opened her mouth twice and closed it again before clearing her throat, “Well, shit. Don't do this crap by halves, do you?”

Cullen pulled the small vial of pre-mixed lyrium potion from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers, “Half measures isn't something we do around here.”

“Alright then, no fucking pressure or anything. Shit.”

Cullen looked down at the potion in his hand, then quickly withdrew the cork stopper and downed the liquid in one swift gulp. The taste was a lot stronger than he remembered; metallic and mineral at the same time. Part of his mind screamed at him to spit it out, his throat tried to close and his stomach rolled. He forced himself to swallow it. Almost immediately he felt the change, the manufactured false confidence that the lyrium gave him. The shadow of the surety he'd found in The Inquisition, a poor imitation, an imposter of how true purpose felt, “No pressure.”

 

A few minutes later and the others had been called back in, Cullen, Anders and Cole had taken seats on the plush chairs and sofa. The rest of the inner circle had crowded into the room too, leaving it all rather cramped, though no one — including Cullen — wanted anyone to wait outside. That they were all here was the way it should be. Bull, Blackwall and Rylen were against one wall, Hawke, Cassandra, Varric and Krem against another. Sera had perched on the foot of the bed, shooting quick concerned glances at Ellana every few seconds.

Dorian ignored the audience, he took his place in the middle of Cullen, Anders and Cole. He turned in a slow circle and clapped his hands as he looked at each of them. “We're all clear on the plan, yes? Cullen will act as your guide, the magic will allow him to enter Ell's dream, and his bond with her should allow you to reach the area of the fade that Ell shaped before losing her magic. He will lead you to where her link was strongest, from there you should be able to reach through the veil and touch her mind.”

“I didn't throw myself at the mercy of The Inquisition for nothing,” Anders said, “Let's get on with it.”

Cullen merely nodded when Dorian looked in his direction, but Cole ignored the question altogether. He twisted in his seat to look at Cullen, a confused expression knitting his brows together, “You sing again.”

“Am I being loud, Cole?”

“Yes, but the song is different now, you know it's false.”

“Alright,” Dorian said slowly, drawing the word out as he looked at Cole from the corner of his eye with a bemused smile, “I'll take that as a yes.”

“We're ready, Dorian,” Cullen said,

Dorian braced a hand on his shoulder, “Good luck, and if you end up in some raw area of the fade, then I don't know, I suppose just -” Dorian shrugged.

Cullen glanced over at Ellana's sleeping form on the bed and smiled, “We'll improvise.”

 


End file.
